


All the Songs I Sing Are About You

by missgeevious



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bars and Pubs, Diners, First Meetings, M/M, Musicians, POV Alternating, Sebastien Raine is an Asshole, Songwriting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21786439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgeevious/pseuds/missgeevious
Summary: “Does that mean you’re open to entertaining my offer?” And David can’t help himself, he leers at Patrick just a little bit when he says it.Patrick blushes and laughs, “Okay, David. Let’s write a song together.”Inspired by the movie Music & Lyrics.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 373
Kudos: 352
Collections: Schitt's Creek Open Fic Night 2.0





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First timer here. It took a village..
> 
> Endless thanks to @rhetoricalquestions for her absolutely indispensable beta work. She is the true VIP of this fandom and knows more about this show than anyone else, possibly including Dan himself. (I know what I said.) She’s also kind and generous and really smart and generally an excellent human. RQ, you are one of the best gifts Schitt’s Creek has given me. 
> 
> Thanks also to @ThePause for her insightful comments and beta assistance as well as as her enthusiastic cheerleading, Kissing Expertise and lyric-writing magic. Her excitement and interest kept me going when I got frustrated and wanted to give up. Thank you, friend! 
> 
> Any lingering mistakes or weirdness are all me.
> 
> Thanks to @whetherwoman for mentioning ventriloquism, which she likely doesn’t remember and may now regret.
> 
> Thanks to @DelphinaBoswell for coming up with the band name and for making me laugh helplessly on a regular basis. 
> 
> I think I am contractually required to thank @this-is-not-nothing.
> 
> And @ahurston… clickety clackety. Thanks for yelling and being so supportive. You’re awesome and I will farm with you ANY time.

Patrick has finished constructing his favorite sandwich and takes a moment to appreciate it. The bread is fresh from the toaster, warm and perfectly browned. The turkey, lettuce, and tomato are cold and crisp and layered in perfect proportions. He uses a knife to cut the sandwich on the diagonal with a satisfying crunch. He picks up one half and is just about to bite into it when Ray calls his name. 

“ _Paaa_ trick?”

He resists the urge to groan out loud at the interruption to his lunch break. Ray is a good employer and an enthusiastic friend, but he has the worst timing of any human being Patrick has ever met. By the time Patrick returns from what is sure to be several chatty minutes with Ray, the toast will have cooled and everything else in the sandwich will have warmed. His perfect sandwich will be perfect no longer. He sighs, claps the crumbs off his hands, and follows Ray’s voice out to the main area of the bar.

Ray is very particular about the business being referred to as a _pub_ and not a _bar._ He thinks it sets a different, and important, expectation about the place, but almost no one else can remember to make the distinction, to Ray’s eternal frustration. The Open Door is one of several businesses Ray owns, but it is his favorite among them and he tends to spend a lot of time behind the bar. He enjoys mixing drinks and, more often than not, getting overly involved in the lives of the patrons. Ray’s complete lack of boundaries can make life at the pub _interesting_. 

Patrick looks around and spots Ray walking out from behind the bar and putting on his jacket. Patrick is surprised. Earlier Ray said he was going to stay for a while, or at least until Patrick had a chance to eat, so he raises his pale eyebrows questioningly. “What’s up, Ray?”

Ray grins at him like he hasn’t seen him in weeks, which is weird but not really unusual for Ray. Ray’s an exceptionally happy guy. “I have to head over to Florist Gump to help sort out some sort of delivery fiasco involving pink carnations. I don’t know how long I will be.” Florist Gump was another one of Ray’s businesses and the one with the most unfortunate name.

Patrick nods. “Okay. No problem, Ray.” 

Ray’s grin grows even wider as he nods toward the dim back corner of the pub, near the dart boards. “There’s only one customer at the moment.” 

Ray continues grinning, widens his eyes, and just stares at Patrick. He’s clearly trying to communicate something with the odd look but Patrick has no idea what it might be so he simply shrugs, “Okay, Ray.”

Ray seems frustrated by Patrick’s lack of understanding but unwilling to elaborate. He stares a moment longer, brown eyes wide and black mustache practically quivering with the force of his smile, and then gives up. “Okay. Bye, Patrick!” he says too loudly.

As Ray backs away his head rotates between Patrick and the occupied table in a meaningful, if baffling, way. He pauses again by the door and blinks at Patrick several times before throwing his hands up in a helpless, good-natured shrug and walking out.

Patrick glances at the man sitting in the back and wonders what the hell that was all about. Fortunately, the man doesn’t seem to have noticed Ray’s antics. He is hunched over his phone, absorbed with what he sees there. The light catches the wide silver bands on the man’s fingers as he swipes at the screen. His drink is about half gone so Patrick heads in his direction to see if he is ready for another.

As Patrick draws near, the man seems to sense his approach and looks up from his phone. Patrick has time to notice his thick, black eyebrows and the way his hair swoops up from his forehead in a perfect inky swirl of a pompadour before the two men lock eyes and Patrick feels a jolt of adrenaline race up his spine, taking his stomach with it before dropping it back where it belongs. 

Patrick’s next step falters a little. He doesn’t think it’s noticeable. Hopes it isn’t. _What the hell was that_? Patrick realizes he’s come to a stop in front of the table and his mouth is open but he isn’t saying anything.

“Uh,” he stammers, “Hi.” 

The man’s wide mouth quirks into a small smile that curls higher on one side. “Hi.”

“Uh,” Patrick says again, brilliantly. _Jesus._ Then, to the man, “Would you like another drink?”

The man slowly looks Patrick up and down and tilts his head. His smile deepens and dimples form in his cheeks. “Are you hitting on me, or do you work here?” 

Patrick is thrown by the question but controls his reaction and comes back quickly with, “It’s purely a professional question,” he says and then points at himself. “Bartender.”

“Ahhh,” the man says and Patrick sees a flicker of something he can’t name in the man’s deep brown eyes. Whatever it is, it sends adrenaline to Patrick’s stomach again. “In that case, yes, I’ll have another.”

Patrick smiles, nods, and heads back toward the bar wondering what in the hell just happened.

%%%

David watches the bartender walk away. His eyes wander from the top of the bartender’s head with its crop of short, wavy brown hair, down the muscular lines of his back—clad in an unfortunate blue button down shirt—stopping for a few seconds on a beautiful ass hiding under some mid-range denim, and finally down to the boring brown loafers on the bartender’s feet. David cocks his head to the side and closes one eye in consideration, trying to overlook the bartender’s sartorial choices. _Not bad_ , he thinks. He takes a second look at the bartender’s ass just as it disappears from view around the corner of the bar. _Not bad at all._ Then he gives his head a little shake and turns his attention back to his phone. That’s not for him. That boy is as straight as the cut of his jeans. Pity.

Just then Stevie startles David by flinging herself into the booth across from him in an explosion of loose raven hair and deep laughter. “So,” she says, and then stops speaking. She’s just looking at him, laughter settling down into a smirk.

David stares back silently. He knows he’s going to lose this contest. He always does. After several moments of Stevie staring and saying nothing David widens his eyes and lifts his hands in exasperation. “What?!”

Stevie’s eyes slide toward the bar and the cute— _Are we calling him cute?—_ bartender and then back to David again, knowingly. “I got here in time to see you check him out.”

David rolls his eyes. “Did you see the jeans? He’s not into me.”

Stevie shrugs and settles into the booth more comfortably. “Did you read my email?”

David doesn’t believe for a second that Stevie is letting this go but he plays along with the change in topic. “Who the fuck reads email, Stevie? I suppose you want to know if I listened to my voicemails too. I am a _millennial_ ,” he sniffs. 

“Are you, though?” Stevie gives him a shit-eating grin. She knows where every single one of his buttons are and she presses them like it’s her job.

“Fuck off. Why are you here again?”

Before Stevie can press the next one of David’s buttons, they are interrupted by the bartender returning with David’s drink. He sets the dirty martini down on the table without looking at David and turns his attention to Stevie. “Hi, there. Can I bring you something?”

Stevie sits up straight and smiles sweetly at the bartender. “Hiiiii,” she says with exaggerated friendliness. “I’m Stevie.”

Patrick chuckles at her enthusiasm. “Patrick.”

Stevie sticks out her hand and Patrick shakes it. She releases Patrick’s hand and lifts her chin toward David. “That’s David.” 

Patrick looks at David for the first time since returning to the table and holds out his hand somewhat stiffly. “Hi, David. Patrick.” 

David doesn’t want to play Stevie’s ridiculous game—she is a terrifying wingman—but he decides to be a nice person and reaches for Patrick’s hand while tossing Stevie a dirty look. The moment he feels Patrick’s strong fingers slide along his palm David’s eyes swivel away from Stevie and lock on Patrick’s face. Patrick’s hand is warm and his grip is firm. His thick fingers are calloused and they gently squeeze David’s hand just a moment longer than necessary and then suddenly clench tight before letting go. Patrick breaks eye contact with David and drops his gaze to the table. He clears his throat and flicks a glance back up at David briefly without lifting his head and says, “Nice to meet you,” before quickly turning his attention back to Stevie.

While Patrick takes Stevie’s drink order, David stares at the bartender again and considers him. David is accustomed to the occasional person recognizing him when he’s out in public. It happens far less frequently now than it used to, which is okay with him most days. He doesn’t think that’s what this is, though. He’s pretty sure this man with the soft brown eyes has no idea who David is. The bartender’s sudden bashfulness feels like something _else._ David feels a low thrum of attraction. Maybe the bartender— _Patrick_ —is more interesting than David initially thought.

%%%

Patrick absently rubs the palm of the hand he just used to shake with David as he walks back to the bar to get Stevie’s drink. He feels strange and briefly wonders if he’s getting sick. His stomach feels hollow and a little queasy, but that is easily explained since he hasn’t eaten his lunch yet. In fact, he’d forgotten all about his sandwich until that moment. He also feels twitchy, like he’s had too much caffeine, which is definitely odd because he hasn’t had any since this morning. He takes a deep, slow breath, pushes his shoulders down, forcing them to relax, and makes a concerted effort to shake off whatever is wrong with him. He grabs a bottle of Stella for Stevie along with a cold beer mug and walks back to the table.

He returns to the table in time to hear Stevie saying, “This could be a real chance at something big. Why are you being so difficult?” 

She stops speaking when she notices Patrick and eyes him with interest. The silence is a little awkward. Patrick puts her beer and glass down on the table in front of her, starts to leave, and hesitates. Patrick can’t help it. His eyes slide over to David and then quickly away when he makes eye contact. Patrick smiles faintly, nods, and walks away, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans as he goes. He is almost back to the bar again when he hears Stevie say, “I _like_ this for you,” and then they are out of earshot. Patrick wonders what “this” is but resists the urge to turn and look at them for a clue. 

Patrick glances at the clock behind the bar and realizes how late in the afternoon it is. The happy hour crowd will begin arriving soon so he sets about getting things ready: putting out bowls of peanuts and pretzels, wiping off tables, making sure there is plenty of beer in the coolers, and plenty of clean glassware. After that he sets himself up behind the bar with a cutting board and an array of lemons, limes, and oranges. He enjoys this part of his job and he’s methodically slicing up all the fruit, trying his best to make the slices even because he likes how it looks and feels when all the slices are uniform, when he hears someone clear their throat close enough to startle him. Patrick nearly slices a finger, and huffs out a surprised laugh at the near miss as he looks up. “Sorry. Guess I was a little zoned out there.” 

David is standing across the bar and he’s looking at Patrick intently. “What is that you were humming?”

Patrick’s brow furrows. “I was humming?”

“Mmm-hmm. Yes. You were.” David nods emphatically and his mouth twists to one side. “You’ve been humming the same tune for quite a while now.”

“Huh,” Patrick says, and then blinks slowly, a little embarrassed. “I guess I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

“What is it?” David asks again.

“Oh,” Patrick squirms a little, “It’s nothing, just a little melody I’ve been messing around with. Sorry if it disturbed you.”

“It was not disturbing.” David squints and scowls as if it’s causing him physical pain to say the next bit. “It was… nice.”

“Nice?” Patrick asks.

“Mmm-hmm. Yes. Nice.” David bites his lips together, rolls his eyes, and shakes his head a little.

David doesn’t seem to have much control over the things his face is doing, and Patrick can’t help grinning at him. It’s _very_ entertaining to watch. Patrick wants to tease David a little and see what other faces he makes, “But was it _good_?”

David’s face immediately stops its gyrations and stills. His face is soft and relaxed but his gaze is intense as he lifts an eyebrow slightly and pauses before saying in a low voice, “I’m sure you’re _very_ good.”

_Holy shit._ Patrick doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know how to respond. That wasn’t what he expected. He can feel his face heating up. He realizes he’s staring and saying nothing, but it’s his turn to talk so he finally gets out, “Uh, thanks?”

“So,” David says, changing the mood, dark eyes letting him off the hook but twinkling in suppressed amusement, “Are you a singer or musician or something?”

Patrick keeps up with the mood change, but just barely. He shrugs. ”I guess you could say that. It doesn’t pay the bills, though. I compose a bit and I perform at our open mics here at the bar sometimes.”

David’s eyes widen in distaste and the corners of his mouth pull down. “Open mic? You mean like with beat poetry and _improv_?” 

David shudders on the word “improv” and Patrick laughs out loud before raising his fingers to his mouth and rubbing at his bottom lip to try to disguise how widely he’s grinning at David. “Yes. Beat poetry and _improv_. Sometimes we even get stand up comedians.” David recoils, his eyebrows raised impossibly high and his mouth turned down in disgust, and Patrick can’t help himself, he wants to see more of David’s reactions. “And once we had a clown.”

“A _clown_?!” David is clearly horrified and takes two steps back with his hands raised, palms out, in protest. 

“You don’t like clowns?”

David takes one step forward again and bites down on his lips before saying. “They aren’t trustworthy.” 

As Patrick opens his mouth to follow up on the clown thing further, Stevie appears at David’s elbow. “We need to go if we’re going to make the meeting.”

David continues to hold Patrick’s gaze but speaks to Stevie.“I’ll meet you out front.”

Stevie’s dark eyes tick back and forth between Patrick and David twice. Then she smirks and walks away without saying another word. 

“I guess I need my tab,” David says, taking another step forward. 

Patrick retrieves the check and slides it across the bar toward David. When David reaches for it, his fingers brush against Patrick’s and Patrick feels that jolt of adrenaline race through him again. This time he finally recognizes it for what it is, though, and his heart begins to pound. He likes this guy, _likes_ him likes him. _Whoa_ , he thinks, and then his mind goes utterly and completely blank. The realization wipes every other thought from his head as he tries to process it. He’s buffering.

David lets his hand linger a moment and then he’s smiling the small smile again, the one that slides to one side just a bit. Apparently Patrick has been cataloging his smiles without realizing it, and he’s still stuck in buffering mode, and now he’s also staring at David’s mouth. Peripherally he sees David put some money on the bar and then David’s mouth moves again. It says, “Bye, Patrick.” And Patrick is still frozen in place, mentally clutching the ledge of the building he just fell off, legs dangling, trying to heave himself back up to safety.

By the time Patrick blinks out of his daze and can form words again, David is gone, and Patrick trades one kind of panic for another. He has no way of finding David again—no last name, no phone number, nothing. Now that his brain is back online, all he can think is that he _really_ wants to see David again. He sprints to the door of the bar, tears it open, and dashes out into the street. He looks left, right, and left again. He stands up on the balls of his feet to try to look over and through the crowd of people flowing in front of the bar, searching desperately for a glimpse of black hair and a leather jacket. His body is coiled, ready to spring in any direction as soon as he sees something, but there’s nothing. There’s no sign of him.

_Fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

David stares out the cab window with unfocused eyes at the world passing by in a blur, thinking about the bartender and the bartender’s song. _Patrick_. Part of his mind is occupied by the melody Patrick had been incessantly humming. Something about it clearly appealed to David, because he can’t seem to get it out of his head. He realizes he’s the one incessantly humming it now, fortunately within the privacy of his own mind. Stevie would have a field day if she realized how much David was thinking about the bartender and his tune. 

The part of David’s mind that’s not occupied with the bartender’s music is thinking about the bartender himself. _Patrick_. He wasn’t anything like David’s usual type, which, let’s be honest, was a point in Patrick’s favor. David’s _usual_ was problematic, at best. His romantic history was littered with beautiful, cold, self-involved people who were only there for one of two reasons: to use David’s fame to further their own aspirations, or to use David’s money to further their lifestyle. When they inevitably discovered he was neither as famous nor as rich as they thought, they moved along. Sometimes the before-they-left part was fun. Sometimes it was _really_ fun. But David had been hurt a lot along the way. He tried to ignore it, bury it deep, tell himself it didn’t matter. He’d told himself that so many times and in so many ways that he eventually believed it. It had been a long time since David let someone get close enough to hurt him. He would _never_ be that person again. 

David couldn’t know for sure, of course, he’d barely spoken with the man, but Patrick seems nothing like the cold, calculating people of his past, focused on their next high or their next fuck. But the way he dresses, for the love of God. David’s shoulders twitch in disgust. David is baffled by the flush of attraction he feels toward him. Then his thoughts shift to Patrick’s thick, wavy hair that David’s fingers itch to touch, and Patrick’s warm, whiskey-colored eyes that David could lose himself in if he isn’t careful. Maybe the attraction isn’t so baffling after all. He needs to stop this train of thought in its tracks. Patrick the Bartender is straight and he is not into David, and even if the first two things aren’t true Patrick is clearly a _nice_ person, too nice for David, too well-adjusted. 

Suddenly Stevie digs her elbow into David’s side. “Hello?”

“Ow!” David whips his head away from the window and glares at Stevie. “What the hell?”

“Stop thinking about the bartender and listen to me.”

“I was _not_ thinking about the bartender!”

Stevie stares at him, unblinking, and calmly says, “Bullshit.” 

David shrugs one shoulder and rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Tell me again about this meeting.”

“God, David. Do you listen to anything I say?”

“It’s not my fault you’re rarely interesting.”

The back and forth with Stevie centers David and gets him out of his head, which was probably Stevie’s intention in the first place. She is smart and devious and beautiful and knows David better than anyone. 

Stevie talks him through it again. They are meeting with Twyla and her manager, Ronnie Lee, about a songwriting opportunity on Twyla’s new album. David struggles to remain focused on what Stevie is saying. This is where his mind began wandering the first time. Twyla’s music doesn’t really interest David. She’s a singer-songwriter with a sweet, folky sound, which is far from the 90s dance pop and divas that David preferred. Twyla is cute and a little kooky and has a hippie vibe to her with her flowing hair and floral skirts. Her music is... fine. If that’s your thing. It’s not David’s thing, though.

 _Fuck._ David’s mind has wandered again. Stevie is still talking and he refocuses on what she is saying. “... the writer of the winning song will perform it with her at her Madison Square Garden show _and_ the song will appear on her next album. This could be huge, David.” Stevie emphasizes the last sentence by jabbing David’s shoulder once with each fist in quick succession.

“But this really isn’t my genre of music, Stevie,” he whines.

“That’s the point, David. The whole reason Twyla wants to work with a retro artist is to create a new sound from an old sound.”

David’s head rears back on his shoulders. “Retro artist?!” he practically shouts. “How old does she think I am?!”

“Old enough to have been a popular music artist in the early two thousands, so I’m gonna say she thinks you’re fairly old. Not, like, assisted living old, but definitely old enough for, like, wrinkles,” Stevie deadpans.

“MY GOD,” David exclaims in horror.

Stevie breaks and puts a hand over her mouth to try to contain her laughter as the cab comes to a halt in front of the building. She hands some money to the driver and gets out. “Come on, grandpa, let’s go.”

David glares at her and considers refusing to get out of the cab but god knows what his monster of a best friend and manager will say to him if he does that. He climbs out and crosses his arms over his chest, pouting. 

“Stop pouting.” Stevie walks into the building, knowing David will follow.

He growls and glares after her, and then he follows, because of course he does.

%%%

Happy hour at the Open Door that night is more crowded than usual thanks to the open mic that is scheduled to begin at eight o’clock. Patrick is struggling to keep up with the drink orders the servers are bringing him, much less with the people actually sitting at the bar. On top of that he is thoroughly distracted by thoughts of David, his dark eyes and dark hair, the way his mouth smiled that small smile, and the way his lips looked as they spoke Patrick’s name. In desperate need of help and a distraction, he’s never been more relieved to see both Ray and Roland walk through the door.

Roland immediately walks behind the bar. “Hey, Pat. How are you?” he asks as he ties an apron around his waist and under the belly that hangs over his belt buckle. 

“I’m good, Roland, thanks. You got this?”

“Yep, I got it. I’ll see you in a bit.” Roland re-positions the ball cap on his head, pats the scraggly, blond mullet that hangs out the back, and turns to the bar patrons, arms wide and eyes alight with glee, “Alright, who’s up for a Schitt Special?” 

Several of the patrons look at Roland in horror while the rest crack up. The ones laughing are the regulars, of course. They’ve heard every joke Roland has about his last name but watching new people experience it for the first time never gets old.

Patrick chuckles and ducks through the connecting door into the kitchen, wondering if his sandwich is still edible at this point and discovers Ray leaning on the counter and taking a huge bite out of one of the sandwich halves.

“Really, Ray?”

Ray just smiles around the bite he’s chewing and pushes the plate with the other half toward Patrick. Once he swallows he grins excitedly at Patrick and says, “Did you get a chance to speak to David at all?”

Patrick’s mouth drops open in confusion and excitement. “The guy that was here earlier? You know him?”

“Of course I know him!”

“That’s great!” Patrick’s excitement level isn’t quite up to Ray’s, but it’s getting there. “Is he an old friend or something?”

Ray laughs in delight. “Did you not recognize him, Patrick?”

“Apparently not.” Patrick’s confusion is winning out over his excitement now. 

“That was _David Rose_ ,” Ray practically shouts. When Patrick doesn’t react, he continues, “You know, from The B13s!”

“Ohhhh,” Patrick says softly in recognition. “That boy band from years ago?”

“Yes! I loved their music. Do you remember ‘Life at the Motel’ or ‘Cafe Tropical?’ Those were always my favorite songs. I used to request them all the time when I was out dancing with my friends.” Ray bounces in place a little, like he might start dancing now that he’s thinking about it.

Patrick nods, trying not to picture the dancing, “Sure, sure. Those songs were popular back then, weren’t they?”

Ray continues talking about the band and listing their songs enthusiastically but Patrick is barely listening. _David Rose. The B13s._ Patrick remembers the name and the band vaguely. Without Ray’s input he might never have made the connection, though. Boy bands had never interested Patrick; all that dancing and posing, and none of them actually _played_ the instruments. Patrick wasn’t even sure the band members actually did the singing. It all seemed so overproduced and uninteresting to him at the time. He was interested now, though. Very interested. The fact that David was somewhat famous might make it easier to find him again.

Despite his general disdain for boy bands, finding out David had been in a one—a pretty famous one, it seemed—is doing nothing to reduce the attraction Patrick feels. His mind flips through memories of David’s dark, amused eyes, the thick scruff on his face, his long fingers, the way the light reflected on his silver rings. He wonders what those hands might feel like touching him, what that stubble might feel like under his lips and tongue, rubbing against his— He cuts off the thought with a sharp inhale. Now that he recognizes his attraction to this man, it’s all he can think about. He needs to see David again. He feels like he should be more concerned, more confused, by this seismic shift in his world, but he isn’t either of those things. He’s excited. He feels good.

Patrick’s attention returns to Ray just in time to hear him finish a story about his first time doing—something—while listening to one of the B13’s songs and Patrick isn’t _remotely_ interested in asking Ray to back up and clarify what the something was. He’s going to assume it’s best to let that go. 

“Listen, Ray, I need to run home to grab my guitar and clean up a bit before the open mic. Are you good here without me?”

“Sure, sure, Patrick. No problem. We’ll see you in a bit.”

Ray begins reaching for the uneaten sandwich half that Patrick has forgotten about yet again, and Patrick barely manages to snatch it before Ray can get to it. He spends the short walk to his apartment eating the sandwich and trying to figure out where to begin his quest to see David again. 

%%%

David and Stevie walk into the empty conference room and sit down next to each other. David settles into his seat, crosses one leg over the other, pulls out his phone, and starts checking his various social media accounts. Stevie stares at him until he makes eye contact with her. Her eyes drop to his phone and then back up again in disapproval. 

“What? They’re going to make us wait. That’s how these things go. They won’t be here for at least another fifteen minutes.” 

Stevie snorts in agreement and gets out her own phone. 

Fifteen minutes later the two of them are deeply engrossed and snickering over a game of dirty Words With Friends and barely notice when the door to the conference room opens. 

Twyla is dressed in a flowing, flowery peasant dress and has an honest-to-god daisy tucked into the braid that hangs over her left shoulder. Her smile is huge and blindingly white and surprisingly sincere. She holds her hand out to Stevie first. “Hello! I’m Twyla.”

“Hi,” Stevie responds. “I’m Stevie Budd and this is David Rose.”

“Of course! David, I’m such a fan of the B13s,” Twyla enthuses. “Your song ‘I Was Outside’ got me through my parents’ divorce when I was nine years old.”

David grimaces and mumbles, “What a coincidence. I was only nine years old when I wrote it.”

Stevie jabs him with her sharp little elbow again and David gives her a low growl.

Twyla’s manager, Ronnie, steps forward and introduces herself as well. Ronnie’s handshake is brief and very firm. She doesn’t bother to smile or make small talk. She is the complete opposite of her sweet, friendly client. If he’s honest, David is a little afraid of Ronnie. He cuts his eyes to Stevie and he can see that Stevie is also a little afraid of her, which is kind of amazing. Stevie is never intimidated.

Ronnie begins talking them through the offer in a relaxed monotone. She ends with, “Twyla wants other people to have the same spiritual experience as she did with David’s music.” 

“That’s _so_ touching,” David says in his best impression of sincerity, and he smiles his best fake smile while he’s at it. “I do have a couple of ideas for updating one of my old songs.” 

Twyla interrupts him by leaning forward, placing her hand on one of his and looking into his eyes intently. “I don’t live in the past, Mr. Rose. It was so long ago.” She pauses as if she’s given David a great piece of wisdom. David does his best to control his face—it’s useless, he knows—and nods solemnly. 

She continues, “I recently broke up with my boyfriend, Mutt, after we had been together for two whole months. It was a horrible experience, but then I realized there’s always more love to be found in the world, and that’s what our song will be called—Always More Love.”

David is beginning to panic. He’d assumed they would be reworking one of his old songs, not writing something entirely new. Writing songs had only ever worked with Sebastien. The band had broken up after Sebastien ended his songwriting and romantic partnership with David, and David had been left with a broken heart as well a fractured ability to write songs. He could still write lyrics. He had always been good at that part. He’d never quite got the hang of writing music on his own, though. He didn’t feel confident when it came to composing. He always felt like half of him was missing when he tried to write a song now. It wasn’t that he missed Sebastien. He’d long ago come to see Sebastien for the monster he was. It was the partnership he missed—a person to work through an idea with and share in the intense highs and lows that come with creating something together. 

Ronnie’s voice brings David back to the moment. “In order to make it onto the album we need the song by Friday.”

“Friday?!” David exclaims.

“Yeeeeah,” Ronnie drawls, “but don’t feel any pressure, sunshine. We’ve got seven other retro artists who are attempting to write a song too. If you blow it we’ll be covered.”

“Well,” David says as he gives Stevie a look meant to communicate _What the actual fuck?!_ “That’s reassuring.”Twyla stands up and beams at David serenely. “Don’t look at this as a competition. If it’s meant to be, it will be. It’s destiny,” she pauses, then continues, “Or not.” 

Twyla slowly and purposely hugs David, then Stevie, and smiles at them warmly. She joins Ronnie at the door, presses her palms together, and slightly bows in their direction before walking out. 

After the door closes David whips his head toward Stevie and finally says it out loud, “What the _actual_ fuck?” His picks up steam. “I cannot possibly write a song by Friday! She’s insane! Write a song? By Friday?!” David is pacing back and forth, hands waving wildly. “I thought I was done with that whole nightmare. Stevie, why are we here? I can’t do _this_!” He waves his hands in giant circles, palms out. 

Stevie drops her head and mutters, “Fuck.” She heaves a breath and then looks up again at him. “Look, David, I didn’t want to have to tell you, but we need this. A few of our regular gigs have canceled. We aren’t bringing in the money we used to. We _need_ this.”

David practically shouts, “Oh, my God!” and claps his hands to his cheeks. He leans forward and makes a show of ducking down to get right in Stevie’s face. “We _need_ this?! Why didn’t you _tell_ me?! I’m finished! I’m dead!” David is back to pacing and his hands gesticulate so fast they are almost a blur. “I’ll wind up doing bar mitzvahs!” 

“No, you won’t,” Stevie deadpans. “Thirteen year old kids have no idea who you are.”

David stops dead in his tracks and glares at her. “Uncalled for!” Then he squints and cocks an eyebrow at her, “ _You_ might actually have to find a second client.”

Stevie ignores him. “It’s one song, David. Write one song.”

David’s voice is softer, more genuine, and a bit nervous, when he says, “I haven’t written in years, and it was only ever any good with Sebastien. I need a musician.”

“Well, then, let’s find you a musician.” Stevie considers him carefully for a moment and then pulls a joint out of her pocket and wiggles it at him. “And let’s find you some chill.”

David nods and heads for the door. “Mmm-hmm. Yes. Let’s go do that.” 

%%%

David stares at the piece of paper he scribbled Patrick’s phone number on when the man at the bar gave it to him. He’s having trouble reading his own writing so he hopes he dialed the right number. Ah, yes, there’s Patrick’s voice telling him to leave a message. Patrick has a nice voice. It’s warm, like his eyes. Brown eyes. Nice eyes… David catches himself drifting, refocuses, and begins to speak into Patrick’s voicemail. “Hi, David, it’s Patrick.” 

David winces. He’s too high to be making this phone call but he’s here now. “I was just calling to talk to you about an opportunity. It’s a—a—” he stutters and squints, trying to collect his thoughts, “It’s a general opportunity? But also a very specific opportunity.”

Just then a text comes in and when David pauses to check the notification he accidentally disconnects the call. 

Fuck. He’s going to have to call Patrick again.


	3. Chapter 3

David gently swirls his drink and takes another sip. He needs a little liquid courage. Okay, he needs a lot of liquid courage. Facing Patrick after leaving those messages is not ideal. He is really hoping Patrick is one of those people who doesn’t listen to voicemails. God, why is he even here? Has he really sunk this low? This isn’t how you go about finding a musician for a project. Of course, giving someone less than four days to compose an original song isn’t how you go about things either. These are desperate times, apparently. He needs to know if Patrick is in or out as soon as possible. So here he is, practically panting after Patrick for a melody he hummed without even realizing he hummed it. Possibly he’s also panting after Patrick in general, but that’s not up for examination right now. 

He swirls and sips again. He has to admit that Ray, the extremely friendly owner of the Open Door, makes a good dirty martini. The man is clearly unable to contain his enthusiasm about David and his old band, though. David’s not sure he’s even _trying_ to contain it. He is peppering David with questions about their songs and their clothes and their dance moves and, _oh my GOD,_ the gang bang rumors, and just as David thinks he might lose his entire mind, the energy in the room shifts as someone walks out onto the little stage that’s been set up in the back. _Patrick._ He’s adjusting an acoustic guitar over his shoulder and smiling at the crowd. The room silences as all attention shifts to the stage and the man standing under the tiny spotlight. The relaxed and confident way he holds himself is incredibly attractive. David’s pretty sure every pair of eyes in the room is locked on Patrick. 

“Hi, everyone. Welcome to the Open Door Open Mic. I’m your host, Patrick Brewer, and I’m gonna start things off with a song.” 

The crowd claps enthusiastically. They know him. They like him. Patrick takes a step back and David can see him take a deep breath and settle himself. Then he steps to the microphone again. He begins singing simultaneously with the first soft note he strums on the guitar. 

_I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles_

_And the heavens open every time she smiles_

_And when I come to her that's where I belong_

_Yet I'm running to her like a river's song_

David recognizes the [ Van Morrison song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OIaKy1vM9hs) immediately. He’d first heard it in a movie long ago and had fallen in love with it. It is a deeply romantic song. Patrick’s voice is warm and strong and perfect for it. He’s barely playing the guitar at all and it’s a good choice, David thinks. It highlights Patrick’s clear voice and beautiful tone. David is hypnotized, along with nearly everyone else listening. 

Patrick’s head dips to one side a little as he sings and David’s eyes are drawn to the length of his neck that is exposed by the motion, the spotlight bathing it in a warm glow. Suddenly, David wonders what Patrick smells like. He probably smells woodsy and clean. He probably loves the outdoors; knows how to build fires and find true north without a compass, all competent and capable with his rolled up sleeves and functional clothing.

Patrick’s eyes are closed now and his brow is furrowed as he reaches the chorus.

_She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love_

_She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love_

Whatever emotion he’s clearly feeling is evident in his voice but it works for the song. The room is nearly silent. Patrick has their full, rapt attention. 

Suddenly, David realizes this song really means something to Patrick. This isn’t just a performance. Patrick is moved by what he’s singing. This is—he’s singing this song _about_ someone. He’s singing this song about... a woman. And it is only in this moment that David realizes that without even knowing it, a large part of him had been hoping he was wrong about Patrick's preferences. His subconscious had been devising a fairly detailed fantasy of finding out what Patrick actually smells like by running his nose along Patrick's gorgeous, exposed neck, and what it might be like to taste him, maybe use his teeth to— 

Before he can complete that thought, David snaps back to reality in time to hear Patrick sing the last repetition of the chorus. He ends the song holding a low, soft note until he runs out of breath. The room is silent for a beat and then erupts in applause. Several people stand up and David can feel a wave of approval and affection radiating from the audience toward Patrick, who lifts his gaze and seems to come back to himself from somewhere far away. He smiles a little sadly at the crowd, eyes still shining with emotion, a blush staining his cheeks. 

_He’s beautiful_ , David thinks. 

%%%

Patrick shifts his weight back and forth on his feet and continues smiling faintly at the audience while he waits for the applause to die down. He’d unexpectedly found himself thinking about Rachel while singing that song and he is trying to tamp down those emotions again and shove them back in their box. Rachel had given him so much of her love and so much of herself, over and over, and he’d broken her heart. It had been months and he still felt overwhelming guilt and shame whenever he thought of her. _Lock it up_ , he thinks to himself. _Lock it up._ This is not the time or place to sort through those feelings.

Once the crowd has quieted sufficiently he thanks them and introduces the next act. He wants to get a moment of privacy to process what just happened but as he is walking toward the kitchen he glances at the bar and stops. _David_. What is he doing here? Patrick hasn’t had a chance to respond to him yet, even though he has been desperate to do so. Seeing him again sends a jolt of electricity through Patrick. He’s still wearing the same black leather jacket and, God, it looks good on him. He’s turned his bar stool around to face the stage and is leaning against the edge of the bar behind him with one arm. The tight black t-shirt he’s wearing under the jacket stretches over his chest and Patrick can see the outline of his pecs. His long legs are parted slightly and Patrick’s gaze drops to his thighs, follows the long lines of them back up to David’s hips before skittering away. Patrick’s eyes bounce back up to David’s face. David is watching him. _Oh, God. Did he see that?_ Patrick swallows hard, forces himself to start moving again, and angles through the crowd toward him. _Here we go_ , he thinks. _Keep it together, Brewer._

“Hi,” Patrick says once he’s close enough to be heard and smirks at David. “I got your messages.”

“Ah,” David says and closes one eye in a small wince, “And, um, you just deleted them all because no one actually listens to voicemails.”

Patrick chuckles. “No, I listened to all of them. I kinda had to, to piece them together. I played them here at the bar and everyone tried to help me figure it out.”

David’s face goes off on another one of its journeys and as entertaining as it is Patrick feels a little bad about it so he says, “Just kidding.”

David opens his mouth and Patrick is grinning already, in anticipation of his comeback, but Ray chooses that moment to pipe up from behind the bar, over David’s shoulder, “I thought the first few were very humorous, David, and then I lost interest.”

David’s whips his head around to look at Ray and then back to Patrick, who cringes slightly and continues grinning. “I may have played them on speakerphone when I thought I was alone and Ray overheard. That’s how I found out he had given you my number.” Patrick tilts his head and smiles, “Why didn’t you ask me for it yourself?”

“I didn’t realize I needed it until later.”

Patrick can’t help it, he’s grinning at David again and he knows he should dial it down but he can’t. “Uh-huh. So my humming was that _good_ , huh?” 

David catches the emphasis, levels a look at him and immediately comes back with, “It was _nice_.” He holds Patrick’s gaze in the same intense way he had earlier in the day, only this time he doesn’t immediately let Patrick off the hook. He just maintains eye contact and waits Patrick out.

The way David is looking at him is making Patrick’s heart beat faster. Whatever this is between them, it’s electric, and he’s pretty sure David feels it too. Six hours ago Patrick felt attracted to another man for the first time in his life, although in the back of his mind he’s been wondering if that was _really_ the first time. There certainly hasn’t been time for a lot of self-reflection today and even if there had been, he’s not really interested in examining this too closely at the moment. Whatever this is, whatever it means, he wants it. He wants to chase this feeling. 

His _body_ is definitely on board with the idea of chasing this feeling. It’s all he can do not to step into David’s space right now and touch him, somewhere, anywhere—his arm, his shoulder, his hand, the scruff on his cheek, his mouth. _His mouth_. What would it feel like to just step forward right now and press his mouth against David’s without another thought? Patrick feels his blood race at the thought. Could he be that bold? Just get it out of the way. Maybe he could start thinking straight again if he did that. Thinking _straight_. He presses his lips together against the giggle he feels fizzing in his chest. _He’s not straight_. Why does the thought make him feel nearly giddy? He should be freaking out, shouldn’t he? He’s thirty goddamn years old and _just now_ having this realization? It’s insane. 

“Hey,” David finally says, brown eyes a little concerned, “Where’d you go?”

A laugh does escape Patrick then and he cuts it off quickly. “Sorry. Got lost in thought there for a minute. It’s been a weird day.” _That’s a bit of an understatement_ , he thinks. “Listen, I want to hear more about this ‘specific opportunity’ you mentioned on the phone but I’m kinda tied up with this open mic thing for at least another couple of hours.”

“I don’t mind hanging around,” David says. Then a thought occurs to him and his entire face clenches in on itself. “Are there… are there any _clowns_ tonight?” His eyes flick around the room nervously.

Patrick shakes with suppressed laughter and reaches out to pat David on the arm. He can’t not touch him anymore. “No, no clowns tonight.” He leaves his hand on David’s arm a moment longer and then quickly shoves both hands in his pockets and ducks his head before looking up at David again. “So, um, I’ll talk to you again in a little bit?”

“I’ll be here,” David says.

“Good.” Patrick looks at him a moment longer before nodding to himself and walking away. 

%%%

David spends the next two hours watching Patrick more often than he watches the open mic performers. The people taking the stage vary from merely whimsical to truly horrifying. He can hardly be blamed for not being able to watch. One of them, an older man, does this weird little jog up to the stage and launches into some of the most bizarre poetry David has ever heard in his life. He’s pretty sure the entire piece was about bagels, of all things. Patrick’s opening performance is far and away the best thing to happen on the stage all evening. Almost everything else that goes on up there is an absolute travesty. 

Every time Patrick takes the stage to introduce the next act, his eyes find David’s and he smiles into them. David would like to blame the heat he’s feeling on the fact that he’s had three martinis now, but he suspects it has more to do with the attractive man that keeps grinning at him from across the room. 

David’s thoughts have circled back on themselves again. There is definitely an energy flowing between him and this wholesome-looking guy who has no business even being on David’s radar. Between the slightly too long pat on the arm earlier and the constant check-ins from the stage, David’s pretty sure his cute little bartender friend _is_ actually into him after all. The thought makes him smile to himself. He takes a moment to appreciate the way Patrick fills out his jeans during his next trip up on stage. This could be a lovely distraction from his current state of anxiety over the Twyla songwriting thing, a bit of needed stress relief. He lets himself think about the possibilities, imagines pulling Patrick into the bathroom, pushing him against the door, grabbing the front of that ridiculous blue shirt, and hauling him into a deep kiss, tongues sliding together, hot breath mingling. He imagines dropping to his knees, yanking down those god-awful jeans, digging his hands into Patrick’s ass and swallowing him down to the root in one swift, rough motion. David shivers and starts calculating the odds of bringing this fantasy to life before the night is over. 

His thoughts are interrupted when Patrick takes the stage again to introduce the last act of the evening, which is apparently a ventriloquism bit with Roland as the ventriloquist and Ray as his dummy. David wants to run from the bar screaming but cannot look away from the horror show unfolding on stage long enough to do so. Roland keeps forgetting to hold his mouth still and Ray keeps forgetting to move his mouth, and for some reason Roland is bouncing Ray on his knee like a child the entire time. Watching it is more effective than a cold shower could possibly be in this situation, until David hears Patrick’s voice behind him. 

He’s behind the bar and leaning up over it to put his face as close as he can to David’s in order to be heard, “So how much are you loving this act?”

Patrick’s unexpected proximity sends heat racing through David again and he swallows hard before saying, “ _So_ much,” as sarcastically as he can manage. 

Patrick chuckles and David can feel his warm breath against his cheek. “Makes you wonder if Roland is a professional ventriloquist, doesn’t it?”

“Mmmm. Or if Ray is a professional dummy.” 

Patrick doesn’t respond so David turns to look at him and discovers that Patrick has dropped back over his own side of the bar again and looks uncomfortable.

It takes David a moment to understand. He’s just insulted Patrick’s boss and maybe friend, and Patrick really _is_ a nice person. God. He can’t be real. He stares at Patrick and considers genuinely apologizing for the comment but can’t quite bring himself to do it. Instead he lifts one shoulder in a little half shrug and grimaces with one side of his mouth, apologizing with his face. It seems to work. Patrick smiles and shakes his head. Then he gets to work taking orders and making drinks while Roland and Ray continue their performance.

David doesn’t want to turn back around and face the rest of this ventriloquist act from hell so he stays as he is and watches Patrick work. Patrick is too busy filling drink orders to notice David’s attention so David settles in and watches a much better show. His eyes follow the flex of Patrick’s forearms as he twists caps off beer bottles and the lengthening stretch of his torso as he reaches up to grab bottles of liquor off the higher shelves. He particularly appreciates the view when Patrick has to lean across the bar in order to hear a customer’s order. David’s eyes drop to Patrick’s hips while his thoughts return to the evening’s possibilities and he puts those hips on his to-do list. He smiles to himself again but this time the smile is more of a dirty smirk. He rubs a fingertip back and forth on the rim of his martini glass and continues watching Patrick until the Roland and Ray debacle ends. 

%%%

Once Roland and Ray are back behind the bar again, Patrick leads David back to Ray’s office and closes the door behind them. His palms feel damp so he rubs them on his jeans. He’s about to be alone with David behind a closed door and the idea is exciting but it’s also making him feel jittery. They can still hear the music and the rambunctious crowd in the bar area but the noise is muffled enough to allow them to talk without having to shout at one another. Patrick gestures to the small sofa and they both sit down. 

“Listen,” Patrick says at the same time as David says, “So,” and Patrick chuckles nervously. There’s a weird charge in the air and Patrick’s trying to figure out if David feels it too. Patrick is struggling not to look at David, struggling not to look at him _too much_ , actually. How much looking is appropriate? Why is he even _thinking_ about this? Suddenly he’s hyper aware of every little thing. 

David seems relaxed and confident. He’s not doing anything obvious to indicate interest in anything other than a conversation. Patrick feels like he’s vibrating with nervous energy. This could all be in Patrick’s head. God, he hopes it’s not all in his head. He remembers long ago someone told him that casual touching is frequently an indication of romantic interest. We don’t lay hands on someone we don’t want to, well, _lay hands on_. He decides that’s the clue he’s looking for. If David touches him, he’s interested.

David begins again, “So here’s the thing about this songwriting opportunity I mentioned on the phone. It’s for Twyla.”

Patrick’s mouth pops open in shock. “Twyla?! That’s… wow. That’s a really big deal.”

“Mmm. Yes, I know.”

“And based on the bit of humming you heard me doing earlier today you think I can help you write a song?” Patrick’s doubt is evident in his voice as well as on his face.

“I have a sense about these things.” 

“Uh-huh,” Patrick says. “Um, still. That seems a bit— ”

“Listen,” David interrupts, his air of confidence disappearing completely as both hands raise and start to wave about, conducting his anxiety, “This song has to be written by Friday. I don’t have a lot of time here to collect resumes and interview musicians or whatever. I’m going with my gut.”

Patrick’s eyes widen and his brows shoot up. “By _Friday_ ,” he whispers. “That’s crazy.”

“I know,” David says. His voice has risen and his face is now twitching along to the symphony his hands are conducting. 

Patrick simply stares at David while he rants about the ignominy— _wow, there’s a word_ , Patrick thinks—of his current situation. Patrick is charmed by David’s sudden lack of confidence and by the lengthy soliloquy David is giving about the music industry and artificial deadlines. Patrick realizes he’s looking at David’s mouth a lot. Too much, probably. He looks away, swallows, and rubs his palms on his jeans again.

After a few more moments David seems to realize he’s been going on for a while and he makes an obvious effort to still his body but one hand continues moving to the beat of his thoughts. He finally ends his rant and takes a slow, deep breath and then that hand comes to rest on Patrick’s shoulder. “Look, I know this is a lot. I know I’m a lot. You don’t have to—”

But the rest of his sentence is lost when Patrick leans forward and presses his lips against David’s.


	4. Chapter 4

Patrick pulls back from the kiss slowly and doesn’t open his eyes. He waits through a couple of erratic heartbeats and takes a shaky breath, a little taken aback at what he’s just done, feeling thrilled and terrified. His face is burning and if he doesn’t open his eyes and look at David then maybe he can just sit here in this moment a little longer, feeling the softness of David’s lips against his, reliving the excitement of taking charge and ignoring the fear starting to clench in his belly, fear that he made the wrong choice. What if he’s gotten it wrong? What if David isn’t interested? Finally, he blinks his eyes open and meets David’s gaze. 

“Hi,” David says softly. 

“Hi,” Patrick says just as softly. 

David reaches one warm hand up and smoothes it over Patrick’s cheek. His long fingers brush past Patrick’s ear and cup the back of his head. _His hand is so big,_ Patrick thinks as he shivers and leans toward him, eyes dropping to David’s lips. He can feel the moist heat of David’s breath and then David’s mouth is on his and Patrick is lost. 

David tilts Patrick’s head back to get the angle he wants and then drags his tongue along Patrick’s lower lip. Patrick inhales sharply, clutches David’s bicep and opens for him, shivering again. David’s tongue slides into Patrick’s mouth, setting every nerve ending in his body alight, all at once. His heart is hammering in his chest as he pushes himself closer and licks into David’s mouth in return. God, he can feel David’s stubble scraping his cheek and chin and it’s amazing. The kiss grows more intense, and Patrick has to break away to catch a steadying breath. David takes this opportunity to bury his face in Patrick’s neck and he begins licking and sucking the sensitive skin under Patrick’s ear. Patrick moans and David grabs him forcefully by the hips and pulls him onto David’s lap. Patrick’s eyes fly open and he grunts in surprise. David slides his hands down Patrick’s thighs, and then under them, before yanking Patrick closer to him and setting his mouth to Patrick’s neck again. A shuddering groan escapes Patrick before he can hold it in. 

_Holy shit_ , Patrick thinks. He was just literally manhandled and it was the hottest fucking thing he’s ever experienced in his _life_. He’s getting hard quickly and David is alternating bites and long sucking kisses on his neck, and Patrick’s hips jerk involuntarily and suddenly it’s all a lot. It’s _too_ much. His breathing is too fast. Black dots are swimming across his vision. He needs to breathe. He can’t _breathe_.

He pushes David’s shoulders. “Stop,” he pants. “I need to stop.” 

David lets go of Patrick’s hips immediately and holds his hands up in surrender, but his eyes are slow to move up from Patrick’s neck to meet his eyes, confusion tied up with lust. David’s eyes drop back to Patrick’s flushed neck again and then back up and he licks his lips. “Wha—What’s wrong?”

 _Oh, god._ Patrick leans forward, staring at David’s wet lips for a long moment. Then he gets control of himself, scrambles off David’s lap, and falls heavily onto the sofa beside him. _Jesus._ He sits there for a moment, trying to catch his breath. 

%%%

David drops his hands to his lap and regards Patrick with a look of consternation and a bit of annoyance. They’d just been getting going. What was his problem? Patrick hasn’t said anything else. He’s just sitting there, taking deep breaths and not looking at David. David can see the red spot on Patrick’s neck that had been his until just a moment ago. He wants it back. Patrick had smelled even better than David thought he would. _Tasted_ even better than David hoped he would. He very much wants to bury his face in Patrick’s neck and finish the job he started. He’s trying hard to be patient but patience has never been one of his strong suits. Just as he’s about to say something, Patrick raises his head and meets David’s perplexed eyes with his own anxious ones.

“Um, I’ve never done that before,” Patrick says and pauses before continuing, “With a guy.” His eyes tick away from David’s and then back again. He looks really nervous but also... happy. He takes a big breath but doesn’t say anything else. 

David doesn’t know what to do. Is he _serious?_ He’s never kissed a guy before? His mind runs through a dozen responses to this piece of information, none of them particularly polite or helpful. He can tell by the way Patrick’s face is changing that his own face is broadcasting all these thoughts. He has to say something. He gets out, “Um, okaaay,” and then stops again, at a loss. 

Patrick looks away, clearly embarrassed, and huffs out a small laugh. “Yeah. So.”

They sit there in uncomfortable silence again and David’s thoughts are like a spinning roulette of bad ideas and unhelpful words. He’d thought he was going to get a little stress relief, not _get more stress._

“I liked it,” Patrick blurts out suddenly. “I like _you_.” He inhales deeply through his nose and blows the breath out again in frustration. “It was just moving a little fast.” Another pause, and then, “For me.”

Patrick looks uncomfortable and embarrassed but also determined to take charge of the situation and it might be the cutest goddamn thing David has ever seen in his life. He just came right out and told David it was his first kiss with a man and that he _likes_ him. Just like that. Like it was nothing. His openness astonishes David and he feels his confusion and irritation quickly slip away. A smile spreads slowly over his face and he twists his mouth to one side to keep it from getting too big.

“Okay, Patrick,” David says. 

Whatever Patrick sees in his face must be the right thing because he is pressing his own lips together and trying to contain a similarly big smile and they just look at each other for a moment. David understands now that he’s not getting Patrick’s cock in his mouth tonight—such a shame, he bets it’s gorgeous—but he’s strangely okay with it. It’s probably for the best if they’re going to work together on this song. 

“How about we focus on this songwriting thing for now?” David tries to get them back on track.

Patrick nods his head, “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. Just…” his voice trails off and he’s blinking at David with those big, brown eyes and when they fall on David’s mouth again he understands what Patrick wants. With his hands still in his lap, he inches towards Patrick, stops, and waits.

Patrick smiles, closes the distance, and presses his mouth to David’s once again. The kiss is soft and sweet like the first one but a little longer, a little languid, and when they part David chuckles. “Does that mean you’re open to entertaining my offer?” And he can’t help himself, he leers at Patrick just a little bit when he says it. 

Patrick blushes and laughs, “Okay, David. Let’s write a song together.”

%%%

Patrick feels like continuing to sit next to each other on the sofa like this is a bad idea. He can feel himself vibrating with the desire to touch David, to kiss him again. He needs to put a little space between them or he’s never going to be able to focus. He slaps his hands down on his thighs in decision and stands up. “Come on, David. Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?” David replies doubtfully.

“Yep. Come on.” He holds a hand out to David without thinking and David smiles before taking it and standing up. Patrick fights the urge to thread his fingers through David’s and keep holding on to him. He feels a little ridiculous for even having the thought. He clears his throat and with effort he lets go of David’s hand and heads for the door. He shoves his hands deeply into his pockets to keep from touching him again.

The night air is cool on Patrick’s overheated face and he feels calmer now that he’s given his body something else to do. Movement is good. He picks a direction at random and glances at David as they begin to walk. “So you need to write a song for Twyla. And you need to do it very quickly. I think you also mentioned something about a concert during your rant?”

David lifts his chin, “I was not _ranting_.” 

Patrick smirks. “Weren’t you, though?” 

David’s mouth drops open and he squints at Patrick. “Rude.”

Patrick instinctively knows David is only pretending to be offended. It feels right between them somehow, this back and forth. Easy. As if they’re been doing it for a long time. Patrick feels himself beginning to relax. 

Over the course of the next few blocks David explains to him about the meeting with Twyla and the upcoming concert at Madison Square Garden, the new album, and the other artists David is competing with for the spot. While he speaks, David’s face is telling Patrick another, slightly different, story at the same time. He thinks Twyla is a bit ridiculous, but he doesn’t say that. Patrick can see it in the way he bites his lips to hold those words in. He is nervous about the other artists competing for the spot, but Patrick only knows that because of how David’s eyes shift when he talks about it. David really cannot disguise his feelings to save his life. No matter what he says, his face either chimes in to back him up or to refute his words entirely. 

Patrick knows he’s looking at David too much. He’s nearly collided with two different people and almost been taken out by a parking meter, but he can’t stop looking. David is gorgeous. There’s no other word for him. He is the textbook definition of “tall, dark, and handsome.” Patrick has to suppress a laugh at the thought.

“SEVEN OTHER ARTISTS!” David repeats, throwing his hands in the air again. “That’s a bit excessive, don’t you think? I mean, shouldn’t she have narrowed the field a _little_ more than that?” 

Patrick can tell David is insulted by having to compete for the spot on Twyla’s album but also scared that he won’t be able to earn it. He’s simultaneously arrogant and insecure and with every other sentence and facial expression Patrick either wants to comfort him or tease him mercilessly. It feels too soon and too intimate to offer comfort so mostly Patrick teases him, which provokes an endless parade of eye rolls, facial tics, and twitches from David. It’s a lot of fun. He hasn’t enjoyed himself this much in a long time. He could talk to David and watch as his face betrays him forever.

He keeps his hands firmly in his pockets the entire time.

After a couple more blocks, Patrick notices that they’re about to walk past Ray’s Diner so he tilts his head toward it and says, “Want to go in?” 

David studies the brightly lit and apparently empty diner for a moment and then notices the name. “Is that _Ray_ Ray?” 

“Yep,” Patrick grins. “Ray has a strong entrepreneurial spirit.”

David lifts one shoulder and nods to indicate it’s fine with him and Patrick holds the door open. David bites down on a smile as he walks past him and into the diner. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

Jocelyn hops up from the stool she’s sitting on behind the counter and rushes over. “Hi, honey,” she greets Patrick enthusiastically and gives him a hug. “Who’s your friend?”

“Hi, Joce. This is David. David, this is Jocelyn Schitt. She’s Roland’s wife.”

David reaches out to shake Jocelyn’s hand but Jocelyn has clapped her hands over her mouth and is staring at David and making a strangled noise. David’s eyes dart to Patrick for an explanation and Patrick shrugs. He doesn’t know what’s wrong. 

Jocelyn’s eyes are huge and it takes her a couple of tries to drop her hands and form understandable words. “You’re… oh my god… you’re David Rose!”

“Oh.” David says. “Um, yes. Yes, I am.” He gives her a polite but friendly smile. 

“I’m such a fan,” Jocelyn exclaims. “I have all of your albums!” She begins excitedly rattling off all her favorite songs and providing commentary about each of them. Her words run together faster and faster and voice goes higher and higher.

Patrick smiles as he watches David handle Jocelyn’s attention. He’s very smooth and charming. He lets her go on for a minute or two and then gently interrupts her. “Thank you,” he says graciously. “You’re very kind.” Jocelyn is blushing a bright red at this point and she simply nods at him and stands there in a daze so David continues, “Could I possibly trouble you for a cup of coffee?”

That seems to snap Jocelyn out of it. “Oh, my god. Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll be right back with that!” She’s halfway across the diner before she stops, snaps her fingers, and trots back over to them. “Can I get you something too, Patrick?”

Patrick chuckles. “I’ll take tea, please.”

“One tea! Coming up!” Jocelyn calls over her shoulder as she dashes toward the kitchen.

They choose a booth by the diner’s big front window and settle in. 

“What’s good here?” David asks, pulling a menu out of the stand on the table. 

“Just about everything,” Patrick says. “I was thinking about having a slice of pie.”

David turns the menu over and carefully evaluates the available pie choices, and when Jocelyn returns he asks her several questions before settling on his choice. When Patrick simply orders apple pie without even looking at the menu David mutters under his breath, “Apple pie. Of course.” 

Patrick grins and shrugs. “I like what I like.” He holds David’s gaze an extra beat before dropping his eyes and fiddling with the coffee cup and silverware arrangement on the table for no reason. _That wasn’t subtle. Good God, Brewer._ He can see his fingers shaking a little as he moves objects around on the table so he puts his hands out of sight on his lap and waits for the rush of adrenaline to pass. 

Jocelyn returns with their slices of pie and David immediately digs in with enthusiasm. She sort of hovers there at the table for a moment, smiling at David, and finally starts backing away. “Um. Okay, then. If you need anything else I’ll be right over there.” She sort of stumbles over her own feet a little and laughs. “Okay. Bye for now.”

Patrick looks across the table to grin at David over Jocelyn’s nervousness but David hasn’t noticed. He’s humming happily over bites of chocolate cream pie and Patrick cannot look away. Everything David is doing with his mouth is extremely distracting and Patrick has completely forgotten about his own slice of pie and even stops trying to make conversation. He just watches David. When he finishes the last bite of his pie David proceeds to slowly and methodically lick every last bit of chocolate off his fork. Patrick’s face feels hot and his jeans are tight again and he concentrates on not shifting around in his seat and giving himself away. _Jesus._

David chuckles and Patrick jerks and makes eye contact with him. Busted. He’s been staring at David’s mouth longer than he thought.

David gestures at the untouched apple pie sitting in front of Patrick. “Change your mind about the pie?”

“Uh, no,” Patrick fumbles his fork and takes a bite of his pie.

David smirks at him and raises his eyebrows. 

Patrick blushes and ignores the smirk. “You said you used to have a songwriting partner. What happened? Why don’t you have one anymore?”

David’s expression shifts and Patrick can see he’s struck a nerve with the question. Before he can take it back, David speaks.

“Sebastien, my writing partner, and I sort of fell into a relationship, not that _he_ ever even considered it one, shortly after we formed the band.” David’s face clenches and Patrick can see this isn’t a good memory for him. “We were young,” he shrugs. “ But we always made a good songwriting team. After we’d made it to the top of the charts a few times, Sebastien got himself a new manager who convinced him he could be more successful as a solo artist. He was right, as it turns out.” 

Sadness has darkened David’s eyes and he stares out the window as he says, “Sebastien took the last three songs we’d written together, put them on his solo album, and made millions.” 

Patrick is astonished. “What an asshole. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

David’s eyes meet Patrick’s quickly before he glances away in embarrassment. “I couldn’t make it on my own. No one wanted to shell out money to see the less famous one. So here I am, playing nostalgia gigs and trying to be relevant again. The moms love me but the teenagers have no idea who I am anymore.”

David shrugs. He’s trying to appear nonchalant but his face is talking for him again and Patrick can see the hurt there. Patrick finally gives in to the urge to touch David. He places his hand on top of David’s on the table and squeezes it gently for a moment before letting go.

David blinks, startled, and gives Patrick a new smile, one he hasn’t seen yet. He’s mostly smiling with his eyes, but one corner of his mouth quirks up, just a little, and the other corner quirks down a little. And, oh, Patrick likes _this_ smile a lot. He wants to kiss both corners of David’s mouth and then feel that smile open against his lips. 

“How did you deal with it when Sebastien left like that?” Patrick asks softly.

“Drugs. Alcohol. Sex. _Lots_ of sex.”

Patrick works very hard to control his face and nods encouragingly.

David continues, “Ultimately, I made my own solo album that no one bought because it was so awful. It was clear I couldn’t write songs without Sebastien so I gave up.” 

David meets his eyes and Patrick sees a flash of the dark chasm of depression that David must have fallen into, before David speaks again. “I made a lot of bad choices, lost a lot of money, and wasted a lot of time until Stevie came along. She forced me to snap out of it and got me gigs again. The audience is older, and so am I, and most of the time I feel like I used to feel when I performed with my mother, but here we are.”

“Performed with your mother?” Patrick asks.

“Mmm-hmm,” David nods. “Our family used to throw these lavish parties and I would sing duets with my mother. She was at the height of her fame then.” He can see that Patrick is confused so he explains, “My mother was a famous soap opera star back in the day. Moira Rose? You might have heard of her? Anyway, I enjoyed the attention that came from performing with her but I felt like an accessory when I was on stage with her—if that makes sense—like one of her wigs. I was there to make her look better.”

David trails off and stares out the window, lost in his own thoughts. “Sometimes when I perform now, I feel like the pathetic opening act the audience tolerates while waiting for the headliner to take the stage. Except, there is no headliner, and all they get is the pathetic opening act.” Suddenly his eyes widen and he claps his hands over them. “Oh, god,” he moans. “Can we just pretend I didn’t say _any of that_?” 

“Thank you, David,” Patrick says softly.

David avoids eye contact but now Patrick's hand is on his, again, and David has to look up. “For what?”

“For opening up to me. For trusting me.”

David’s eyes slide away again. He squirms uncomfortably and makes an effort to return to the teasing banter they had slipped into earlier in the evening. “Fortunately, I’m a very generous person,” he says with a glint in his eye.

“Uh-huh,” Patrick says and smiles. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”

Jocelyn brings their check and she must be embarrassed about her behavior earlier because she doesn’t say a word, just smiles at them, puts the check down and walks away. Before David can react, Patrick puts some down money on top of it and says, “I guess it’s pretty late. Can we talk some more about the song tomorrow?”

David nods. “Mm-hmm. We can talk whenever you’d like. Just, preferably, not before ten a.m.? I’m not really a morning person.”

Patrick grins at him. “Right. Well, given how short this timetable is I’m thinking we should get started as early as possible.”

David rolls his eyes unhappily. “I guess.”

“How about I call you once I’m up?”

David bites down on a huge grin and raises his eyebrows at Patrick before tiling his head to one side.

Patrick flushes bright red and stutters, “A-awake. Once I’m _awake_. I will call you when I’m awake.”

David’s grin escapes and blooms fully before he gets control and locks it down again. He pretends to be annoyed and nods. “Fine.”

Patrick avoids eye contact and tries desperately to banish images of erections and a naked David starting to form in his mind. He wants— _needs_ —to take control of the conversation again, to have the last word, so as they stand up Patrick smiles at David slyly, “And, hey, if I don’t get a hold of you I’ll just… leave a message.” 

“OKAY!” David huffs and leads them out of the diner.


	5. Chapter 5

David spends his walk home trying to worry about the songwriting, but ends up thinking about his new songwriting partner instead. The way Patrick looks at David is… well, it’s _something_. David can’t remember anyone ever looking at him that way before. Patrick seems wildly confident for a guy who is so clearly out of his comfort zone. He initiated his first kiss with a man nonchalantly, like he’d done it thousands of times before. His openness and confidence is sexy as hell. David thinks about the way Patrick's eyes held his, the suggestive way in which his gaze lingered on David back at the diner. _I like what I like._ The memory of that moment sends a shiver down his spine. David tries not to feel smug that he was the object of desire that provoked that first-ever kiss of its kind, but he does feel a _little_ smug. Apparently David’s desire to be desired is bottomless, which sounds like his mother, and that’s a thought that nearly stops him in his tracks before he can shake it. He’s not in the mood to examine that little realization right now, or maybe _ever._

David tries again to make himself think about the song they need to write, to think about Twyla and the type of song that would appeal to her, but his thoughts are slippery and he can’t seem to keep them on the task at hand. His rebellious mind keeps showing him snippets of Patrick’s open face, his teasing smirk, his whiskey-colored eyes and the way they looked when he blinked them open after that first kiss. The part of David that yanked Patrick into his lap and wanted to consume him back at Ray’s office wakes up again. There are a lot of things he wants to do to Patrick, that he wants Patrick to do to him. The rest of the walk to his apartment is spent in serious and detailed consideration of those things. 

By the time he pushes through his apartment door David isn't even trying to corral his thoughts anymore. He closes the door behind him, locks it, and moves through the apartment going through his usual routines on autopilot. He’s thinking about Patrick’s hands now. How those hands felt when they squeezed David’s shoulders and pulled him closer as their kiss grew heated. How Patrick’s hand looked when he laid it on top of David’s hand at the diner. What it might look like wrapped around David’s cock.

He sits on the bench at the foot of his bed and carefully removes his shoes and takes them with him to the closet. He places them gently in their designated cubby and then undresses, handling each item of clothing as carefully as the shoes, smoothing the leather jacket over its special hanger, hanging up his jeans and then stripping off his t-shirt and socks and putting them in the hamper. 

He’s down to just his black boxer briefs now and he walks to the bathroom to perform his nightly skin care routine, still only half paying attention to what he’s doing. He’s not sure what to make of the fact that Patrick’s never been with a man before, never even kissed a man before tonight. David can’t help preening a little bit again at the idea of being his first and he smiles at himself in the mirror. He’s still got it. He gives Mirror David a little shoulder shimmy and then the smile turns into a soft laugh as he shakes his head at himself. It _is_ flattering, sure, but it’s also a little concerning. David isn’t interested in being anyone’s experiment. He’s been there, done that, bought the t-shirt.

He knows he should stop this thing between them immediately and not let it go any further. It will almost certainly end badly. It always does. And yet… David’s mind drifts. He’d very much liked how Patrick’s hips had felt under his hands, liked the startled noise Patrick had made when David grabbed him, liked how that startled noise ended in a deep moan of pleasure once David got his mouth on Patrick’s neck. David runs a hand down his belly and cups the front of his briefs for a moment. He’s half hard just thinking about that sound. He runs his palm up and down slowly a couple of times and then reaches up to open the medicine cabinet. He studies the different lubes lined up neatly across the middle shelf before selecting one. Then he turns off the light and heads to bed.

%%%

Patrick is wearing the most comfortable pair of sweatpants he owns, the ones that are so soft and so well worn in places that the fabric is thinning, the pair he never wears outside the apartment for fear they might actually fall apart and expose him to the world. He’s also wearing his favorite long-sleeved Blue Jays t-shirt, which is similarly faded from long use. The collar is a bit stretched and droops to one side a little. It is his lucky Jays shirt, though, so he will wear it on game days until it disintegrates.

He is sitting on the sofa with his legs propped up on the coffee table in front of him and the game on the television. It’s the bottom of the sixth and the Jays are up by four over the Yankees. This is a great game, possibly the best game Patrick’s ever seen. His cheeks ache from smiling so much at the television. He’s so happy.

From his lap he hears, “Enjoying the match, honey?” 

Patrick looks down and his smile grows even wider, “The _game._ And yes, very much.” He runs his fingers gently through David’s thick black hair and David closes his eyes and hums appreciatively. They remain like that for a while, with Patrick watching the game while David lies with his head in Patrick’s lap and basks in the feeling of Patrick’s gentle fingers in his hair. When David’s eyes finally open again they’ve darkened and his mouth has opened slightly. Patrick glances down at him and his face turns serious as he touches a finger to David’s bottom lip, slowly tracing it from one side to the other and then pressing down in the middle, gently coaxing David’s mouth open a little more. 

David surges up, wrapping one hand around the back of Patrick’s neck and yanking him down into a passionate kiss that leaves them both gasping for breath. As David breaks the kiss and slides onto his knees between Patrick’s legs, looking up at him with fire in his eyes, Patrick shivers with anticipation... and jerks... and wakes up. 

_Jesus_. He covers his eyes with one hand and uses the other to press against his raging hard-on. He focuses on slowing his breathing for several seconds before sitting up on the edge of his bed. He sits there with his head bowed, replaying the end of the dream in his mind even as it begins to disperse at the edges the way dreams do. 

He stands up and walks to the bathroom. He figures he has two choices: he can take a cold shower, or he can continue reliving the dream before it disappears and take care of himself. The choice is clear. He reaches through the shower curtain, turns the water up as hot as he can stand, and climbs in. 

%%%

David is annoyed by the buzz of the doorbell. He yanks open the front door and glares at Patrick, who looks cheerful and wide awake. “Good morning, sunshine!” he teases, eyes crinkling with amusement as he gets a good look at David’s rumpled appearance. Patrick looks entirely too crisp and put-together for this early hour. David wants to grab him by the hand, drag him back to the bedroom, and kiss the smile off his face. “Mmmphm,” David replies instead as he squints and glares harder at him.

This does not have its intended effect, though, and now Patrick looks like maybe he thinks David is cute and that won’t do, _at all._ But before he can organize his thoughts into a suitably snarky thing to say, Patrick raises his arms to bring what’s in his hands to David’s attention. In one hand is a cardboard tray with drinks and in the other is a paper bag. Without a word, David snags one of the coffee cups and holds it under his nose, inhaling deeply. 

Patrick waggles the paper bag, along with his nearly non-existent eyebrows, and says, “Donuts.”

David grabs the bag, turns on his heel, and stalks toward the kitchen.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you weren’t a morning person,” Patrick calls after him. He stands there in the doorway for another moment and then continues a little louder, “So I’ll just come on in then, huh? Make myself at home?” He chuckles as he closes the door and follows David to the kitchen, where David is adding copious amounts of sweetener to his coffee as well as a sprinkle of cocoa powder. 

David scowls at him, daring him to say anything but Patrick is once again smiling at him as if he finds everything David does adorable, and David realizes he _likes_ Patrick looking at him like this. _Ugh_. He leans back against the counter and closes his eyes while he sips his coffee so he doesn’t have to look at Patrick’s button face. It’s entirely too early for this. _Ugh_. Patrick doesn’t say anything and after several moments David cracks one eye open to look at him again. He’s standing there sipping what looks like tea, based on the tag peeking out of his cup, and he’s _still_ smiling at David. _Ugh_. He’s still cute when he’s being smug and _so awake_ , and David still wants to drag him into the bedroom and kiss him everywhere and tease him until he loses his mind and— “Ugh!” David thinks he may have actually said it out loud this time.

Patrick laughs and says, “So I’m guessing you fell back asleep after we texted earlier?”

David lurches up from the counter, mumbles, “Shower,” and marches away. 

“Good idea. You’ve got a bit of a hair situation there,” Patrick calls after him. 

“UGH!”

%%%

Patrick is disappointed when David stumbles off to shower and complete his process of waking up, but thinks it’s probably a good thing. Sleepy, grumpy David was doing things to Patrick, things that were going to be obvious soon, things best not to think about right now, so Patrick begins wandering around David’s apartment a bit. He doesn’t want to be nosy but he is hungry to learn more about David. 

The apartment is tastefully decorated in neutral colors and lit in a warm glow that is aesthetically pleasing and comfortable, but it’s also just a little bit fussy. Everything clearly has a place and has been purposely positioned or displayed. Throws and pillows are placed just so. Magazines are fanned out in symmetrical arrangement. Patrick smiles to himself and nudges a copy of Architectural Digest just slightly out of alignment. He wants to see if David will notice. 

He spies a bookshelf tucked in the corner by the window and wanders over to examine its contents. His mouth drops open and he whispers, ‘Wow,” when he realizes what he’s looking at. The shelf contains a Grammy as well as an American Music Award. Patrick reaches out but stops short of touching them and then drops his hand and just stares at them for a moment, impressed. Next to them is a framed black and white photo of David as he looks out from the stage at what appears to be a sold out Madison Square Garden crowd. The photo captures his profile. He looks happy, proud, and absolutely gorgeous. Patrick reaches out again and this time he can’t help himself, he briefly presses a finger against the small pleased smile tugging at David’s mouth in the photograph.

Patrick turns from the bookshelf and finally approaches the focus of the entire room, the black Steinway baby grand piano. It is a beautiful instrument, polished and gleaming in the morning sun. He sits down on the bench and gently places his fingers on the keys. His head is bent in concentration and he stares at his fingers for a few moments, studying the curve of his fingertips on the rectangular keys, and thinking about all the music and emotion here, just waiting to be released, all he has to do is begin. As if it’s that simple. As if maybe there is magic in this instrument.

He begins picking out a melody, the same melody he was humming at the bar yesterday. He plays a few bars and stops, thinking. He begins again and adds a few more bars this time before he stops. Then he plays the old and the new bars together several times until he’s sure they’ve stuck in his memory. 

Nothing else is immediately coming to mind to continue the melody so he begins playing bits and pieces of different songs as they occur to him, sort of the musical equivalent of doodling. Keeping this part of his brain busy loosens up the creative part of his brain sometimes. 

After a few minutes Patrick realizes he’s begun playing [ Adele’s _One and Only_ ](https://youtu.be/wA4ppvp2IzY). It’s such a gorgeous song on the piano. He loves to play it. He leans into it, closes his eyes, sways, and feels the music. He almost doesn’t notice when he begins to sing. His voice gets stronger and stronger.

_If I've been on your mind_

_You hang on every word I say_

_Lose yourself in time at the mention of my name_

Patrick opens his eyes then and startles a bit when he sees David standing at the far end of the piano watching him thoughtfully. Patrick stops playing and dips his head down bashfully before smiling up at David through his long eyelashes.

David studies him and for once Patrick can’t interpret the expression on his face. “Well, that was lovely,” he finally says. “Let’s just write something like that.” 

“Sure, sure. We’ll knock out something that good in no time.” Patrick nods seriously and takes in David’s appearance. David is back to his meticulous self. His hair is swept up and perfectly styled. He’s wearing white jeans with the knees artfully torn and a cozy black sweater that clings to him and emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders. He looks amazing. Grumpy and Sleepy are gone. They’ve been replaced by Charming and Handsome. Patrick has no complaints. 

David turns to the desk behind him, opens a drawer, and removes two notebooks and two pens. He hands one set to Patrick and then settles himself into an armchair across the room with the other set and looks at Patrick expectantly. 

“Okay,” Patrick says. “So we’re starting now. Got it.”

Both men open to the first page and then sit in silence, staring at their notebooks.

“Nothing more terrifying than a blank page,” David says after a few minutes have passed. 

Patrick nods his head in agreement and then begins speaking slowly and thoughtfully. “Let’s see. We need a song for Twyla. It has to be called ‘Always More Love,’ which is the title she demands. And…” he trails off for a moment, considering, “And it has to be something Twyla would sing about. And it has to be something _you_ would sing about.” He gestures at David. 

David nods but doesn’t say anything.

“What would you sing about?” Patrick asks.

“Whatever gets me the job,” David replies.

“That’s helpful.”

David shrugs.

Patrick stops speaking. He decides he’ll leave room for David to have an idea. A small eternity passes in silence. David is staring out the window and occasionally muttering the word, “Always” and Patrick is doodling in his notebook and trying not to look at David too much. _Why is it so hard to figure out an appropriate amount of looking and stick to it?_ He begins making hash marks in the margin of his notebook, one mark each time he glances at David. When he reaches ten hash marks David begins clicking the button on his pen in quick, nervous little bursts. Patrick thinks maybe an idea is about to manifest, but… no. Just more clicking and staring. 

Patrick sees the moment David’s eyes catch on the issue of Architectural Digest that is out of place. David frowns slightly, leans forward, and nudges it back where it belongs. Patrick presses his lips together to hide his smile and looks away. 

The silence is becoming tense and uncomfortable. He can see David’s frustration building in the movement of his face and the way he’s nearly twitching in his chair. Patrick decides to break the mood and begins plinking out the theme to Jeopardy on the piano. He begins one-handed, just picking out the melody, but then he gets into it, adds the other hand, and jazzes it up. He grins at David, bopping his head side to side while he plays.

David’s mouth is a twisting and sliding around as he tries valiantly not to smile at Patrick. When he finally gets control and schools his face into a frown he says, “Thanks. Thanks. That’s really helpful.” 

Patrick finishes with a flourish.

“God, you’re such a troll!” David says. 

Patrick laughs and turns sideways on the bench so he’s facing David straight on. “Come on,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. We only need a starting place. Just spit something out.”

“Just spit something out?!” David glares at Patrick. “I’ve never just _spit something out_ in my life! You’re gonna have to give me a minute.” 

“Listen, it’s okay,” Patrick says soothingly. “Don’t overthink it. Don’t feel pressured. Lyrics aren’t as important as melody.” 

David’s mouth drops open and both hands fly up to his face. “EXCUSE ME?”

“I just mean that that a catchy melody is what makes people like a song. Think about all the popular songs with great melodies but ridiculous lyrics. I mean, if I start humming _All-Star_ by Smashmouth right now it’s gonna be stuck in your head all day.”

David drags his hands down his face, pulling his cheeks until he looks like a silly but sexy version of that Scream painting and Patrick is trying so hard not to laugh that he almost can’t get the next bit out. “Or _Ice Ice Baby_ by Vanilla Ice? That melody will stick with you for _days_.”

David jerks up out of his chair and begins pacing back and forth in front of Patrick, arms waving and face cycling between disgust and frustration. “No, no, no, no, no!” he shouts. “That one doesn’t even count! It’s a rip-off of Queen!” 

“Hey, now,” Patrick says and then smirks while he waits to see if David catches him.

David stops dead in his tracks and squints at Patrick menacingly. “I _am_ the sharpest tool in the shed.”

Patrick’s laughter finally bursts out of him and his shoulders shake with it. He laughs so hard and so long that his eyes begin to water. David glares at him for a few moments but can’t maintain it. His mouth twists from one side of his face to the other as he fights the laughter that wants to escape. He loses the battle and a big, toothy grin blooms wide on his face for just a moment before he dials it back. Patrick feels like he was just hit with a beam of pure sunlight on a cloudy day. He is dazzled by that grin. Patrick stops laughing and starts thinking about how much he wants David to smile like that at him again and what he might do to make it happen. Anything. He would do anything to make David grin at him like that again. Patrick has a new favorite David Smile.

David sits down again and looks at Patrick seriously. “A melody is like seeing someone for the first time. The physical attraction. Sex.” He holds Patrick’s gaze and pauses, and Patrick feels his heart pick up speed. David continues, “But then, as you get to know the person, who they _are_ , that’s the lyrics, their story.” He leans forward and looks at Patrick intently. “It’s the combination that makes it magic.” 

Patrick licks his lips and forces himself to stay put on the piano bench, to not walk over to David right now and pull him up and into a kiss. God, he really likes this guy. He’s in trouble here. _Breathe, Patrick._

“Okay, David,” he says. “Give me an example. What are we aiming for here?”

David doesn’t hesitate. “That’s easy. _The Best._ ”

Patrick isn’t following him. “The best... ?”

“You know, the Tina Turner song.”

“Ahh,” Patrick says and smirks. “That song does have a great _melody_. Very catchy.”

David gives Patrick a look of perfect disdain. “Excuse me. That song has the most amazing _lyrics_ and they never receive the credit they deserve.”

“That’s because the melody is so great that the lyrics come in second.” God, Patrick is loving every second of this argument, every moment of winding David up. 

David is back on his feet again. “Incorrect!” He whips out his phone and begins jabbing at the screen with one finger. Before Patrick can ask what he’s doing, the opening notes of the song begin blasting from speakers all over the room. David points at Patrick dramatically. “Close your eyes!” he demands. Then he points up at one of the speakers. “LISTEN.” Patrick obediently closes his eyes, and listens.

[ Tina’s voice ](https://youtu.be/GC5E8ie2pdM) fills the room:

_I call you, when I need you, my heart's on fire_

_You come to me, come to me, wild and wired_

Patrick carefully cracks one eye open to peek at David. He’s turned his back to him and he’s swaying to the music. As Patrick watches, the swaying turns into dancing. Patrick’s eyes pop all the way open. He’s been given a free pass to stare at David and he’s not going to miss the opportunity.

_You come to me_

_Give me everything I need_

His eyes slowly travel from David’s gravity-defying hair to his broad shoulders. He pauses there and watches them roll from side to side a bit as David moves. 

_Give me a lifetime of promises and a world of dreams_

_Speak the language of love like you know what it means_

His gaze drifts down farther to the muscles of David’s back he can see shifting under his sweater, and then down to his hips, which are swaying to the beat. The long sweater covers David’s ass, which frustrates Patrick but doesn’t stop him from staring anyway and imagining what might be hiding under it. 

_And it can't be wrong, take my heart_

_And make it strong, babe_

David whips around as the chorus hits and Patrick is _so_ busted. He doesn’t even try to save himself. He just grins wildly at David, who points at him as if to say, “Gotcha!” and then drops his arm and continues dancing and singing along with Tina. He’s playing it up now, performing for Patrick.

_You're simply the best_

_Better than all the rest_

_Better than anyone_

_Anyone I ever met_

Patrick is loving every second of this. He’s grinning so hard his cheeks ache. He finally gives in, throws his head back and starts singing along with Tina and David. The rest of the song passes with David dancing and both men singing at the top of their lungs.

As the final notes fade, David stands in the middle of the room, hands on hips, trying to catch his breath. “Lyrics!” he states with authority. “The _lyrics_ are what make that song! Tell me I’m right. Go on. I’ll wait.”

Patrick stands up, walks swiftly toward David, snakes his arms around David’s waist and pulls him close. He lifts his chin and says, “Okay, David. You might be right.” 

David gasps in surprise at Patrick’s boldness and then he rests his hands on Patrick’s shoulders and smiles his crooked smile. “I _am_ right.” 

“Whatever you say, David.” Patrick looks at David’s mouth and then nudges David’s nose with his own before pressing a kiss to David’s smile the way he’s wanted to all morning. 

David breaks away from the kiss to say, “That’s not the same thing! I just need you to say I’m right.” 

Patrick smirks and says, “Okay, David,” and kisses him and kisses him until David stops talking, stops trying to be right, and kisses him back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my friends at the bar for their kind support and enthusiasm. It means a lot.

David is fairly certain he has a point he still wants to make in the lyrics versus melody debate—several points, actually—but he’ll be damned if he can remember what they are, not with Patrick’s mouth hot on his, and Patrick’s hands roaming up and down his back and pulling him closer. David relaxes into him and tries to let Patrick control the kiss. He doesn’t want to push him too fast again but Patrick’s wayward, grasping hands are making it difficult for David to keep this kiss in PG territory. Patrick’s inexperience makes David feel unsure in a way he usually doesn’t. How the hell is _he_ is the one feeling nervous right now? 

Patrick makes a small frustrated sound and takes David’s face in both hands, deepening the kiss. He plunges his tongue into David’s mouth, their teeth briefly clacking together. David can’t help the moan that escapes him in response. One of Patrick’s hands slides firmly down his side and around to the small of his back and presses his hips closer. The other hand slides up to cup the back of David’s head and clench in his hair. Patrick’s confident handling of his body makes David’s breath hitch. His fingers dig into Patrick’s shoulders with the effort of keeping himself still and continuing to let Patrick control what is happening. He can feel Patrick’s erection pressing against him and when Patrick groans softly into his mouth David’s own cock starts to fill in response.

The bashful guy from last night with the gentle, chaste kisses and the puppy dog eyes is _gone_. David can’t believe that the person taking him apart kiss by kiss right now is the same one who kissed a man for the first time last night. Suddenly David finds himself wondering about Patrick’s motivations again. David definitely doesn’t have any hang-ups about sex for the pure pleasure of it. But he _is_ cautious about people with unknown or undisclosed intentions, and he is _absolutely_ wary of emotions getting tangled up with orgasms. He doesn’t have many hard and fast rules about sex, but using condoms and being on the same page are at the top of that short list. And while he has a drawer full of condoms, he’s not sure at all whether he and Patrick are on the same page.

He pulls back from Patrick’s mouth regretfully and starts to speak, but Patrick chases David’s lips and snags David’s bottom lip gently with his teeth. _Fuck._ David shivers and melts into the kiss again for a few moments, lost in the desperation of Patrick’s mouth, before he remembers that they need to talk. They do need to talk, right? That would be the right thing to do, to check in with Patrick and make sure this is all okay? That they’re on the same page? Given that David can still feel Patrick’s erection hot and hard against him, he’s pretty sure this is… _oh_ , and now Patrick is using his teeth again, this time on David’s neck… and David knows he had a thought he was trying to chase… God, this man is distracting… Oh. Yes. He remembers now. He was going to be a good person and _talk_. How annoying. He slides both palms onto Patrick’s chest, pauses briefly to appreciate the muscles tensing briefly under his touch there, and then pushes gently until there is a sliver of space between them and he can get a look at Patrick’s face for a moment. 

“Hey,” he says softly.

Patrick’s eyes blink open, slow and wide, and focus on David’s face. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are shiny. With those dark, hungry eyes he looks like he’s about a second away from dragging David into the bedroom and tearing his clothes off, and David is _here_ for that. Patrick doesn’t say anything. He just tries to pull David close enough to get his mouth back on any part of him again.

“I know,” David says and pushes a little harder on Patrick’s chest. “I know.” 

Patrick makes a pleading sound and David has to dig deep for enough self-control to resist crushing his mouth against Patrick’s again.

“Shhh,” David soothes. “Just a second. I think we should maybe slow down a little? Take a breath?”

Patrick’s brow furrows and he looks like he’s about a minute away from an actual pout, “Wha--? What’s wrong?”

_God, he’s cute_ , David thinks. He wonders if Patrick realizes he’s just said the same thing David said last night when their roles were reversed. 

“Nothing’s _wrong_ exactly,” David says. “It’s just—last night you told me that you’d kissed a man for the first time when you kissed me, and, um…” David trails off. Now that he’s started this he’s not sure exactly what he wants to say. “And you seemed like you needed to go slow—slower—and, well, this—this doesn’t seem _slow_ right now.” God. Is he really trying to _talk_ about _feelings_ right now?! Why isn’t he just dragging this man into the bedroom? What’s _wrong_ with him?

Patrick’s ears go pink and he steps back from David, looks at the floor, and twitches his shoulders uncomfortably. He seems embarrassed now, which wasn’t what David intended. 

“I just—” David breaks off and growls quietly in frustration, “I wanted to make sure you were—I mean, that _this_ —is… okay.” He gestures between the two of them, tossing his hands up and rolling his eyes, annoyed with his inability to express himself and annoyed that he isn’t just getting laid already, and that it’s his own damn fault. 

Patrick begins to back away some more and David takes his hand before he can go too far. “Don’t misunderstand,” David says, and before he can continue Patrick interrupts him. 

“I’m sorry, David.”

David shakes his head and decides to try to match some of Patrick’s openness and honesty. “No, no. There’s nothing to be sorry for here _at all_. I… um… I liked it very much.” He twists his mouth to one side and smiles. Huh. That didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. “Are you sure you’ve never, uh, kissed, a man before yesterday? Because that was...” David trails off again, raises his eyebrows and blows out a little breath. He’s usually a lot more articulate than this. He squeezes his eyes shut to try to hide exactly how much Patrick’s confidence turns him on. Just talking about it is making him hot—hotter—for Patrick. 

Okay, maybe this honesty and openness thing was going to take some practice.

Patrick huffs a laugh and says, “Thanks? I think.”

“Mmmm. No.” David shakes his head slowly and smiles. “Thank _you_. I’m… flattered, and interested,” he flicks his eyes down to Patrick’s lips, making his meaning clear, before he says seriously, “but I don’t want to be an experiment or something that you regret. I’ve been that for people in the past—an experiment—and I won’t be that again. I don’t _want_ to be that… for you.”

Patrick’s eyes widen, “No. No, no. This is… I’m not….” He’s clearly frustrated by his stumbling and David watches as he closes his eyes, forces his shoulders down into a more relaxed position, and settles himself. When he opens his eyes again he looks at David calmly but intently. “I am not experimenting with you David. I know we don’t know each other all that well yet, but I wouldn’t do that to you.” He runs his thumb over David’s knuckles and squeezes his hand. David looks down. He had completely forgotten they were holding hands until that moment. He’s not really a “holding hands” kind of guy, but he doesn’t pull away. He looks back up as Patrick begins speaking again. “And I’m definitely _not_ going to regret this. I feel good, like a weight has been lifted. It’s like… It’s like... You made it okay. Okay for me to—” Patrick silences in response to whatever it is he sees happening to David’s face.

David’s brain suddenly lights up. _You made it okay._ That’s good. He likes how that sounds. He likes it a lot. He needs Patrick to stop talking so he can chase this thought. He holds up a hand. He knows he’s being rude, and this is terrible timing, but it can’t be helped. “Shhh, Patrick.” 

%%%

_What the hell_? Patrick is too shocked to be angry about David’s sudden dismissal. He watches as David walks quickly back to his chair and scoops up his notebook and pen. He stands there and scribbles furiously for a minute and then stares out the window, clicking his pen and repeating the words, “You made it okay.” Then scribbles some more, scratches something out, and returns to staring and clicking. It’s as if Patrick no longer exists.

Patrick knows you can’t control when inspiration strikes, but this is definitely the most inconvenient epiphany he’s ever experienced, rather, watched someone _else_ experience, he guesses. He watches to make sure David isn’t looking at him and adjusts himself as discreetly as he can before walking back to the piano bench and sitting down. David seems to have forgotten Patrick is even there. He’s added pacing to his staring and clicking now and Patrick covertly watches him walk back and forth, eyebrows doing complicated things to mirror his thoughts. David’s hair is a bit messy from their make-out session and his lips are still swollen and red. Looking at him is not helping Patrick calm down. He shifts around a bit on the bench and grabs his own notebook for distraction. He starts writing out the chord symbols for the bits of melody he committed to memory earlier and considers how to continue. After a few moments his eyes are pulled involuntarily to David again. Dammit. He makes an eleventh hash mark in the margin of his notebook.

He manages to add a bit more to the melody before becoming distracted with thoughts about what just happened. He doesn’t like where they left things, with David thinking that Patrick might be using him to sort out whether or not he’s attracted to men. Patrick might be late to realizing this, sure—and maybe he needs to spend some quality time with himself examining how he could have failed to recognize this pretty fundamental thing for so long—but he doesn’t feel confused about how he feels about David. _At all_. He needs to show David that it’s more than just physical attraction, although… he looks up at David again and then makes a twelfth hash mark… yeah, there’s _a lot_ of physical attraction too. He has to work to control the almost irresistible urge to be closer to David. He’s never felt this physically aware of another person before. He feels like his entire body is vibrating at a frequency specifically tuned to David.

Patrick doodles in the margins of his notepad and considers the situation. He decides he needs to back up a step and take David on a date before anything else happens physically. _That’ll show David_ , he thinks, show him that Patrick wants more than one night with him. Show him that this _isn’t_ an experiment. This is good. Patrick feels more at ease now that he has a plan. He’s going to keep his hands off David and he’s going to take him out and make it clear that he’s not just after David’s body, although he _sincerely_ hopes he doesn’t have to keep his hands off David for very long. 

“Patrick?” 

He startles a bit. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but he thinks David has said his name more than once without him hearing it because David has stopped wearing a path into the floor in front of the window and is standing next to the piano. Patrick looks up at David and smiles softly. “Hi.”

“There you are. Hi.” David chuckles. “I think I’ve got a good start on the lyrics. How are you doing with the melody?”

Patrick glances down at his notebook and then back up at David. “Yeah, I think I’ve got a good start too. Are we ready to do this?”

David nods. “Mmm-hmm. Yep. Let’s see what we have.”

Patrick begins playing his melody and David clears his throat and begins to sing. 

_Before I met you, love seemed like a lie_

_A means to an end, a way to get by_

_But you showed me how, showed me the way_

_You opened your arms, you made it okay_

David's eyes meet Patrick's as he sings the last line and his lips curl into a shy smile.

Patrick can’t control the smile that spreads across his own face and it feels like it goes from ear to ear, but he does manage to stay in his seat and keep his hands to himself. He feels pretty good about that. He’s sticking to the plan. _Keep your hands off David._ CHECK.

“What do you think?” David asks.

“I think that’s good, David. I like it. How do you feel about it?”

David nods. “I agree. I think it’s a good start. I’ve got a bit more here but I’m not happy enough with it yet to share it. Where are you with the melody?”

Patrick repeats the bit that David just sang along with and then continues on. It’s a more up-tempo version of what Patrick hummed at the bar. It sounds brighter and more like a pop song. Patrick thinks with the right bass line it would definitely be a song you could dance to. Just like Tina, they are disguising surprisingly emotional lyrics with music that makes you want to move your body. The thought makes him happy.

David’s lips press into the smile that quirks the corners of his mouth in opposite directions, and nods his head. “I like it.” 

“Good,” Patrick says, returning the smile. “Me, too.”

David turns and walks back to the chair he’s been sitting in off and on all day and begins dragging it closer to the piano. He looks awkward and Patrick smothers a laugh as David grunts and struggles a bit with it. He finally gets it positioned next to the piano and flops down onto it with a big sigh. 

“What are you doing?” Patrick asks.

“I’m too far away over there.”

Patrick smiles. He wants to tease David but he likes this better, too. It feels more collaborative, more intimate. David pulls off his shoes and tucks his legs up next to him in the chair. Patrick’s eyes are drawn down to David’s exposed ankle. He has a nearly overwhelming urge to reach over and rub his thumb over the nub of David’s ankle bone. Good lord. Is there literally _any_ part of this man that isn’t attractive?

David finishes getting himself situated and turns serious. “Okay, let’s keep going.” He starts clicking his pen again and Patrick knows he’s going to hear that sound in his sleep by the time this is over, but he doesn’t mind a bit.

%%%

David stretches his arms over his head and shudders through a huge yawn. They’ve been working for a few hours now and it feels like maybe they need to step away from it for a bit. “Are you ready for a break?” he asks Patrick. 

“Sounds good.” Patrick stands up from the piano bench, twists his torso from side to side, and then begins pressing his fingers together in a back and forth motion to stretch them. The movement makes the muscles in his forearms bunch and relax and David watches the motion with interest. He has a brief vision of grabbing those arms and wrapping them around himself. Who knew forearms could be so attractive? He’s very tempted to do it, but they haven’t returned to the discussion they were having earlier so he still doesn’t know if he and Patrick are on the same page. He can’t think of a way to bring it up again without making it awkward so leaves it alone and walks toward the kitchen. “Want some coffee?”

“Do you have tea?” Patrick follows him. 

“Maybe,” David says and begins rifling through the cupboards, eventually finding a box of lemon soother he didn’t even know he had. He holds it up and looks at Patrick with raised eyebrows.

“Perfect,” Patrick says. 

They spend a few minutes in comfortable silence while they each prepare their drinks. At one point Patrick trails a hand across David’s lower back as he passes behind him, but other than that they keep their distance and their hands to themselves. 

They lean against the counter side-by-side and sip their drinks for a little while before Patrick clears his throat and turns to look directly at David. He is certain that Patrick is going to pick up the thread of their unfinished conversation and he begins to prepare himself. Other than the accidental brush on his back, Patrick hasn’t tried to touch him again all afternoon. Clearly he’s changed his mind. This is it. This is where Patrick tells him that getting involved is a mistake, that he wants to keep this professional or that they should just be friends. David thought he was prepared for this but is shocked to discover—in this moment—that he wants to be more than friends, that he maybe even wants more than a one-time thing with Patrick, and that sets his mind spinning. When did that happen? _How_ did that happen? David shuts the thought down. It doesn’t matter. Patrick’s changed his mind anyway. They will finish the song and be friends. This will be easier. It would go bad sooner rather than later anyway. David squares his shoulders and turns to face Patrick, ready to accept Patrick’s rejection with good grace and maybe even a self-deprecating joke. 

“David, would you like to go out for dinner tonight?”


	7. Chapter 7

Patrick feels a little wild and his stomach swoops with nervous energy. He did it. He asked David out. Step one of the plan had not gone perfectly and he was a little frustrated with himself for that. He had skimmed a palm across David’s back earlier without fully realizing he was doing it. The galley-style kitchen was close quarters and Patrick had gotten sucked into David’s orbit. He had failed at _keeping his hands off David,_ but he’d nailed step two of the plan: _Ask David out._ CHECK. Except now David isn’t saying anything. He is looking at Patrick strangely and his mouth is slightly open, as if he is _about_ to say something, but he seems frozen like that. Finally, his mouth snaps shut and he bobbles his head a little bit before finally saying, “You don’t have to do that.”

“No,” Patrick says, “I’d like to.”

David stares at him again for a beat and then says, “Okay. Sure.”

Patrick feels his stomach swoop once more and he stuffs his hands into his pockets to stop himself from putting them on David. It’s not time yet. He still needs to _keep his hands off David_ for a while _._ He settles for grinning at him instead. “Okay,” he says. “Would you like to— ” His sentence is interrupted by the doorbell buzzing loudly.

David’s brow furrows and he walks over to the door and cracks it open before opening it wide. “What are you doing here?” 

“God, David,” Stevie says. “Did you actually forget? _Again?_ ” 

David’s eyes widen and he hisses, _“Fuckkkkkk,”_ before he spins and rushes down the hall toward the back of the apartment. Patrick scrubs a hand over his mouth and tries not to smile at what David looks like when he moves quickly like that. It’s adorable. He turns to Stevie and finds her dark eyes watching him closely. He’s sure he has a dopey look on his face and he’s sure Stevie didn’t miss it. He can feel his cheeks warming and fervently wishes—not for the first time—that he could control his blushing. 

“Hi,” he says and then gestures down the hallway. “What’s that all about?”

Stevie closes the door behind her. “He has a gig tonight, a reunion.”

“Oh.” Patrick tries not to let his disappointment show but he’s certain Stevie catches that too. She doesn’t say anything, though, just raises her eyebrows questioningly and continues looking at him. “We, uh, we were going to go to dinner tonight, but it will have to wait for another time, I guess.”

“Yep,” Stevie says succinctly. She walks past him and into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. “Do you want a beer?” she calls back to him.

“David keeps beer in the house?” Patrick asks, surprised.

“He does if he wants me to come over.”

“Sure, thanks.”

Stevie brings them each a beer and they sit down in the living area. “So, how is the songwriting coming along?”

“Good, I think.” They spend the next several minutes sipping their beers and talking about the progress on the song. Patrick likes Stevie, likes her sharp edges and sarcasm, likes how smart she is and how utterly without guile. Even after only knowing her a couple of days he can see that she is exactly who she is, and that she says exactly what she thinks. Patrick understands why David would be drawn to her. She soothes him by being the opposite of what most people would consider soothing. She soothes him by being prickly and blunt, and by being steadfastly honest. If she cares about you, you don’t have to wonder what Stevie thinks. Give her a minute and she’ll tell you. After a lifetime of wondering about other people’s ulterior motives, Stevie must feel like an oasis to David. 

David dashes back into the room. He’s changed into black denim, still artfully distressed at the knees, and he’s traded in the sweater for the black t-shirt and leather jacket combination he’d been wearing the night before, and added a silver chain necklace. His hair is once again styled into a perfect swoop up from his forehead. Patrick’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him. He is unquestionably the most gorgeous human being Patrick has ever laid eyes on. Dressed all in black like this he looks dangerous and sexy as hell. Patrick shoots to his feet. “David. You look...” he starts to twitch forward, toward David, and then hesitates, suddenly remembering that Stevie is right there and remembering he’s supposed to _keep his hands off David_. He halts the movement and shoves his hands into his pockets. “You look good.”

David’s eyes shine at the compliment and he smiles softly at Patrick. “Thank you.”

They stand there smiling at one another until Stevie clears her throat loudly with a sarcastic, exaggerated edge to it.

“Right,” David says without looking away from Patrick. “Um, can I have a raincheck on dinner?” 

“Of course,” Patrick says.

Stevie pipes up from her spot waiting for David by the front door. “You should come to the show, Patrick.”

David whips his head around to Stevie and the two of them seem to communicate telepathically for a moment before David turns back to Patrick and says, “Oh, no, no, no. I’m sure you’d rather go home and get some rest. It’s been a long day.” Stevie is grinning at Patrick over David’s shoulder. 

Between his tone of voice and the tension in his body, it’s pretty clear that David doesn’t want him to come to the show but Patrick can’t resist. He wants to see the boy band version of David in action so he pretends not to notice David’s not-at-all-subtle attitude and body language.

  
“I’d love to come. Just tell me when and where.” 

%%%

David scoots into the back of the cab and refuses to look at Stevie. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

David sniffs and fusses with the sleeves of his jacket. He’s not speaking to her for the rest of the night, possibly for the rest of his life.

“Sounds like you guys made some good progress on the songwriting today,” she says.

David sniffs again and looks out the window. “I’m not talking to you.”

“But you are, though.”

“No! I’m n—” David growls and clamps his lips together.

Stevie is quiet for a bit, just long enough for David to think she might let him off the hook about Patrick, and then she says, “Seems like you guys made some good progress getting into each other’s pants today, too.”

David turns to her, mouth open and eyebrows raised indignantly. “Excuse me?! What did he _say_ to you?”

“He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.”

David tries to arrange his face to appear bored and uninterested in anything Stevie has to say. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She isn’t fooled by his feigned indifference. “David, he looks at you like he can’t decide whether to sing you a love song or tear your clothes off. The boy’s got it _bad._ ”

David turns his head to look out the cab window again to hide the toothy grin spreading across his face and the flush of pleasure reddening his cheeks. “Whatever,” he mumbles. 

He’d been so surprised when Patrick asked him out to dinner. He hadn’t used the word _date_ , but David was eighty-seven percent sure it would be a date when it happened, and he felt a warm squeeze of happiness in his chest at the thought. 

%%%

Patrick decides to swing by the Open Door on his way back to his apartment and make sure Ray is okay with him taking the rest of the week off to work on this songwriting thing with David. He arrives to find the happy hour crowd is still pretty dense so Patrick ducks behind the bar to pitch in. 

“Hey, Pat!” Roland claps him on the shoulder. “Good to see you!” 

“Looks like you could use a little help.” Patrick grabs some tickets and starts prepping drinks for the servers. The activity and fast pace feel good to him after so much sitting still and controlling himself earlier in the day. Once the crowd dies down Patrick grabs himself a beer and sits down on the customer side of the bar. Roland opens one as well and they clink their bottles against one another before drinking. 

Ray walks out of the kitchen at that moment and sees Patrick sitting at the bar. “ _Paaa_ trick!” he exclaims and hurries over to sit next to him at the bar. “I’m so happy to see you! Please tell me, how is the songwriting with David coming along?” 

“Yeah, buddy,” Roland chimes in. “How’s the _songwriting?_ ” Roland winks at him lasciviously just in case Patrick didn’t catch his meaning, which he absolutely did. How in hell does Roland know there is something going on— _kind of going on?_ —between himself and David? Then it hits him: Jocelyn. They must have looked a certain way at the diner. And if Roland knows, everyone at the bar knows. _Great._

Patrick chooses to answer Ray’s question rather than Roland’s. “It’s going well, I think. We made a lot of progress today. I think we’ll be ready to record a demo in time for Twyla’s deadline.”

“This is _very_ exciting, Patrick!” Ray grins at him. “Just think, we will be able to say we knew you before you became famous!”

Patrick shrugs and smiles, a little uncomfortable with the turn the conversation is taking. “We’ll see,” he says noncommittally. 

“So why are you here, Pat, instead of still with David, you know, _writing songs?_ ” Since he didn’t get a reaction from Patrick earlier, Roland gives Ray a big wink this time and gestures at Patrick with his head. 

Patrick ignores Roland’s implication again. In order to work with Roland he’s had to get good at ignoring _all_ of Roland’s implications. “I wanted to make sure everything was okay here without me this week. David has a gig tonight. If you guys are okay here I’m going to go home to clean up and then back out to see his show.”

Approximately two milliseconds after he says this he realizes what a terrible, terrible thing he’s done, and he watches in mounting horror as Roland and Ray lean across the bar toward one another and begin speaking very quickly. 

“Do you think Bob can hold down the bar on his own tonight?”

“I’m sure he could. It’s a weeknight. No dart league. No open mic.”

“Crowd should be light then.”

“Yes.”

“He could handle it.”

“I agree.”

“I can’t wait to tell Joce. She’s gonna be so excited. 

“But you have that couples massage tonight, do you not?” 

“Oh, yeah. Man, I hope Linda and Ron don’t mind rescheduling us. It’s my turn with Ron.”

Both men turn to look at Patrick. 

“What time is the show, Patrick?” Ray asks.

“And where is it?” Roland says.

_Oh, god._

%%%

David carefully peeks out through the curtain at the crowd assembled in the hotel ballroom. It’s a fifteen-year high school reunion that’s been in full swing for a couple of hours now. No one is obviously drunk yet but the alcohol has definitely loosened people up. People will begin making questionable choices any second now. He scans the crowd for Patrick’s face. He stopped being nervous about these types of gigs a long time ago but knowing Patrick will be out there is making him anxious. He steps back from the curtain and paces around for a minute, shaking his hands and rolling his shoulders. 

Stevie cocks one eyebrow at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Ugh. Why did you have to invite Patrick?”

“Why do you care?”

David rolls his eyes and and peers out through the curtain again. This time he spies Patrick standing at one of the cocktail tables near the back of the room. Patrick has changed into a darker blue button-down and dark wash jeans. For the life of him David can’t figure out how this guy makes such boring clothes look so good. He’s in the act of tipping a beer bottle up to his mouth. David watches as his lips wrap around the bottle, watches his head tilt back, watches his throat move as he swallows. What _is it_ about this man’s neck? David begins drifting into fantasy again and has to force himself to refocus. David smiles to himself, pleased to see Patrick even if his presence also makes his stomach twist with anxiety. Just then he sees some familiar figures join Patrick at the table. 

“Oh, god,” David moans.

“What?” Stevie walks over to peer through the curtain as well.

David steps back and begins waving his hands emphatically. “No! No, no, no.”

“Who are those people with Patrick?” Stevie asks. 

David closes his eyes, lips curled in disgust. “Bar patrons.”

“What?”

“People from the Open Door. Why are they here?!” he whines.

“Are those the guys that did the live ventriloquism thing you told me about?” 

“Yessss,” David hisses, shuddering at the memory.

Stevie is almost bouncing with glee. “This is going to be _amazing_ ,” she breathes.

“You are an awful, awful person.” David turns to face the wall and begins gently thunking his forehead against it. There is nothing he can do about this. He has got to get it together. He can practically hear his mother intoning, “David, dear, the show _must_ go onnn.” He straightens up, twitches his shoulders and give his head a little shake. 

“Last look,” he says to Stevie. 

She looks him over with a critical eye and then nods. “You look good. Knock ‘em dead.”

He watches as Stevie gives a signal to the DJ. As the song fades out the DJ begins introducing David. “Hockley Valley Class of 2005! Are you ready to get this party started?” 

The crowd begins clapping and whooping enthusiastically. David feels a thrill course through him. There’s always a moment before going on stage when it feels like absolutely anything could happen. He’s never been sure if what he feels in that moment is excitement or fear. 

The DJ has reached the end of his intro. He’s got the crowd wound up now and he finishes with, “Please welcome to the stage, your favorite B13er! David Rose!” 

David struts onto the stage to the thumping bass and turns his back to the audience, legs spread, arms at his side, and head bowed. As the opening notes of “I Was Outside” begin booming through the speakers he pops his left hip to the beat. The crowd screams enthusiastically and he lets their energy flow through him. By the time he spins around to sing the first line of the song he’s forgotten about everything else. His anxiety washed away on a wave of their approval, and he is purely in the moment. The crowd knows the song as well as he does—better probably—and he feels more like he’s leading them rather than performing for them. He can tell this is going to be a great show.

During the third song there is a commotion near the front of the stage and David can see Jocelyn elbowing her way to the front. Once she makes it she grins at him, waves both hands, and shouts at him over the music, “Hi, David! It’s me! Jocelyn! From the diner! Do you remember?” David keeps singing but he smiles and winks at her and she shrieks with happiness before turning to everyone around her to see if they saw what just happened. David is actually kind of having _fun_ performing at this point, much to his surprise. The next several songs are just as fun. Jocelyn’s enthusiasm doesn’t waver in the slightest. She whoops and shouts at the beginning of every song and dances with abandon. By the fifth song Ray and Roland have joined her at the front of the stage. What they lack in dancing skill they make up for with unencumbered joy. Despite everything, David is not embarrassed by them, and he really thought he would be. 

He hasn’t looked toward Patrick’s table since he took the stage. He’s a little afraid of what he might see on Patrick’s face. That he might _care_ a little too much about what he sees there, or be disappointed that it isn’t the look he’s _hoping_ to see, so he hasn’t looked. The last song of his set is a ballad, though, and when the crowd goes quiet and still to listen he finds his eyes sliding to Patrick. He’s leaning forward on the table, hands clasped in front of him, and eyes locked on David. He’s smiling fondly and the smile deepens when they make eye contact. Whatever it is between them, it’s still there. Even across a room full of hundreds of people, he can feel the Patrick’s warmth. He likes how Patrick’s eyes feel on him. He likes it a lot. 

After the performance David spends time greeting the reunion attendees and posing for selfies. Then he spends time doing the same for Jocelyn, Ray, and Roland. By the time he makes his way to the table Patrick has a dirty martini waiting for him. David takes a long sip and hums appreciatively. “Thank you.” 

“My pleasure,” Patrick says. “You did a great job. It was a good show. Everyone loved it.”

“Thank you.” David says again. He thought for sure Patrick would tease him a bit about the whole thing but he’s being sincere instead. David feels a tiny spark of pride fan into flame in his chest and warm him. 

He feels sweaty and disheveled after the performance, but Patrick is looking at him intensely, with dark, serious eyes that make it clear he likes what he sees, and it makes David’s skin feel like it’s vibrating. David stares at him over the rim of the martini glass and sips slowly. This time Patrick’s eyes follow the motion of _his_ throat as he swallows and David can see a telltale blush beginning to stain Patrick’s cheeks. The tension between them is thick, full of promise and heat. David remembers what Patrick’s body felt like pressed up against his own, and swallows hard. He opens his mouth to ask Patrick to come back to his place but Patrick speaks before David can.

“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

David blinks in confusion. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to find words. _What the hell?_ Finally he says, “Um, yeah. Yes. Sure. Just not before—”

“—ten a.m. Yes, I know.” 

He thinks Patrick tries to wink at him, but he’s not positive because neither eye actually closes completely, and he’s still utterly confused by the current turn of events. He opens and closes his mouth a couple more times and finally says, “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Night, David.” 

David watches Patrick until he’s no longer in view and then whispers to himself, “What the _actual_ fuck?”

%%%

Patrick feels like the next day goes really well at first. He continues to _keep his hands off David_ and they make really good progress on the song. He feels good about both of these things, but David has seemed a little off all day and Patrick can’t figure it out, and it’s only making it that much harder for him _not_ to reach out for David, who’s been huffy and has broken two pens with his extra-emphatic clicking. When Patrick couldn’t figure out what the problem was he gently asked if everything was okay and David had nodded his head jerkily and with a falsely bright voice said, “Yes, of course. Why _wouldn’t_ everything be okay? Everything is fine.” And they’d gone back to work. Patrick didn’t know what to do if David wouldn’t talk to him, so he mostly tried to ignore the irritation coming off of David in waves, but it was difficult. 

Despite David’s moodiness they’ve been focused and work well together, and before they know it, they’ve finished the song. They run through it one more time with Patrick playing and singing Twyla’s part and David singing his part, and when the last note fades into silence they grin at one another in relief and excitement. David’s bad mood seems to have lifted. “I think we’ve got this,” he says.

“I think we do,” Patrick agrees. 

They grin at each other some more. Patrick would really like to hug him right now, but he sticks to the plan. “What’s next?”

“I’ll have Stevie call over to the studio and book it for a few hours tomorrow so we can record a demo to send to Twyla.” 

“Great! I feel really good about this song, David.”

“Mmmm,” David nods. “Me, too.”

“So.” Patrick rubs his palms on his legs nervously and stands up. “Would you like to have that rainchecked dinner tonight? To celebrate finishing the song?”

David hesitates, and for a moment Patrick thinks he is going to turn him down, and it feels like his heart actually stops beating, but then David nods, “Sure. Let’s celebrate. Let me call Stevie and do a little freshen up and we’ll head out.”

After David disappears into the bedroom Patrick allows himself a moment of excited nervousness. He grins and gives a full-body twitch to try to release some of the energy and then works on getting his face back under control. He straightens up the living area a bit, moves the chair back to its correct spot, and fidgets anxiously while he waits for David. He checks his messenger bag three different times. The gift is still there, tucked safely into the front section of the bag, every time he checks.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** Note the bump up to an E on the rating, friends. I'm not sure if this actually qualifies as Explicit, but maybe? ***
> 
> Big thanks to @ahurston for being yelly and supportive and giving this chapter a great beta-ing.
> 
> Special thanks to the Writer-Bot for being so bossy and inspiring.

David settles into the booth across from Patrick and takes a deep breath. He’s not sure when it happened, or why it happened, but it’s clear Patrick has changed his mind about the nature of their relationship. They’re just going to be friends. Maybe not even friends. Colleagues, probably, maybe, if Twyla ends up choosing their song. It’s fine. This will be fine. Less complicated. He’ll be glad of it, eventually. He opens his menu and immediately starts scanning for the fried food. He needs carbs, carbs and…his eyes flick over the menu... hot cheese. He’s going to order the deep fried mozzarella stick platter to start. Maybe they will coat some of this disappointment in gooey cheese and make it easier to swallow.

He’s still staring at the menu when he hears Stevie’s voice. “Sorry, I’m late.”

David looks up, but before he can snark at her Patrick says, “Hi, Stevie. I, uh, I didn’t know you were coming, but, hey, the more the merrier.” At that, he stands up and gestures for Stevie to slide into the booth. He gives David a strange look and excuses himself to the restroom.

After he’s gone Stevie leans toward David and says, “What the hell? Why did you invite me here?” 

“We’re celebrating the fact that we’ve finished the song.” He shakes his head, confused. “Why wouldn’t I invite you?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Excuse you?!” 

“David, this is a date. I’m crashing a date. Did you see his face when I walked in?”

“Oh, no,” David says. “No, no. It’s not a date. We’ve decided not to pursue the—” he waves his hand vaguely, “ — the other thing.” 

“Uh-huh,” Stevie says doubtfully. “Well, he brought you a present.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Stevie tugs on the wrapped gift poking out of Patrick’s bag until it slides free and she places it on the table. David stares at it and then shakes his head. “That’s not for me.” 

“Right,” Stevie says and rolls her eyes. “Okay, I’ll just say this—if this  _ is _ for you and if there is anything remotely sentimental in here? He is on a date with you right now.”

David stares at the wrapped package with equal parts hope and fear.

Patrick returns to the table at that moment. He looks at the gift and then at Stevie. “Oh, I see you found my present.”

Stevie smiles innocently, as if there _ is _ an innocent bone in her body. “It fell out of your bag.”

Patrick chuckles. “Right.” He slides back into the booth next to Stevie.

“What is it?” Stevie asks, and if looks could kill, the murderous look David is giving Stevie would be the precursor to her eulogy. 

“Oh,” Patrick says dismissively, “it’s just a little congratulations present for David.”

David immediately leaves off composing Stevie’s very short eulogy—no Candles in the Wind for her—and puts a hand on the gift. “A present? For me?” He smiles softly at Patrick.

Patrick’s face is red and he shifts around in his seat. “You can open it later.”

The two of them are now having a gentle tug-of-war over the gift, which David wins, and then he says, “This is the first gift I haven’t bought myself in a very long time. So thank you.”

“You’re gonna be so underwhelmed when you open it. Trust me. It’s nothing.”

David unwraps the gift and his mouth drops open a little in surprise. He looks up at Patrick and a smile tugs at one side of his mouth. 

“What is it?” Stevie can’t stand the suspense. 

Patrick answers. “It’s, um, a page I stole from David’s notebook. It’s the page where he wrote down the bit of lyric that became the inspiration for our song.”

“You made it okay,” David says, and then he looks up at Patrick, “This is  _ not  _ nothing, so thank you.”

Patrick nods and smiles and they sit there looking at one another, both remembering the embrace that prompted Patrick to say those words, until Stevie starts pushing on Patrick’s shoulder to get his attention. “Hey. Hello! I need out. I forgot I need to be… somewhere else. Like, literally,  _ anywhere _ else.”

Patrick looks at her with confusion, but gets up and lets her out and then slides back into the booth.

Stevie stands back where Patrick can’t see her and gives David a very emphatic thumbs up. Then she steps forward, raises an eyebrow at David and says, “You owe me dinner.” As she walks away she calls over her shoulder, “Bye, boys!”

David grins.  _ This is a date _ .

%%%

Patrick isn’t sure he understands everything that just happened between himself and David, or between Stevie and David, for that matter, but he and David are alone again and David likes the gift and he  _ seems _ to understand this is a date now, so Patrick isn’t too concerned with figuring it all out.

Dinner is a blur. He’s pretty sure it all goes well. The food is good. They’ve both had just enough to drink to feel warm and a little fuzzy around the edges. The conversation flows easily and they’ve been smiling at each other non-stop, but Patrick isn’t absorbing any of the details. He couldn’t tell you what, exactly, he ate or what it was he said that made David laugh until he snorted a little bit, which made him clap his hand over his mouth in horror, which then made him snort laugh again. But he  _ could _ tell you exactly what David’s dark, almond-shaped eyes looked like when they suddenly turned heated. And he could tell you what David’s cool, silver rings and warm fingers felt like when Patrick reached across the table and threaded them through his own. 

They are still sitting there like that, staring into one another’s eyes and holding hands, when it all goes to hell.

There is a commotion at the front of the restaurant. A cluster of people standing at the bar suddenly seems to have the attention of everyone in the place. At first, Patrick thinks something is wrong—a fight or a medical emergency or something—but then it becomes clear there is a celebrity of some sort at the epicenter of everything. People are excited and fluttery. Patrick doesn’t really care who it is. The only celebrity he’s interested in is across from him, so he looks back to David again, and immediately becomes concerned. All of the blood has drained from David’s face and he is sort of hunching in on himself, as if he is trying to become smaller. To pass unnoticed somehow. As if this beautiful man could ever  _ not _ be noticeable. 

Patrick tightens his grip on David’s hand. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

David doesn’t look at Patrick. He makes a distressed sound and moves his head so that his face is turned away from the bar. He looks small and anxious, and Patrick feels protectiveness explode in his chest. “David,” Patrick speaks his name firmly. “Look at me. Are you okay?” 

David’s panicky eyes meet his and he whispers, “Sebastien,” before looking away again.

Patrick glances back over to the bar and sees the man—the asshole—at the center of the group of people, who he now recognizes. He feels adrenaline surge through him. The hand that isn’t holding David’s clenches involuntarily. Patrick knows he needs to get a handle on what he is feeling right now or he is going to do something he shouldn’t. He needs to help David, and marching over there and punching Sebastien in the face isn’t the way to do it. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and forces himself to relax. When he knows for sure that he is calm again, he speaks. “David, have you spoken to him since everything that happened between you?”

David shakes his head mutely, face still turned away.

“Are there things you want to say to him?”

David laughs without humor and his wet eyes meet Patrick’s. When he sees how seriously Patrick is looking at him he straightens up a bit. “I… don’t know. I don’t think it matters.”

“David, that man broke your heart and  _ stole _ your music. He deserves anything—everything—you have to say to him.”

David seems to consider Patrick’s words. He straightens up a bit more, but he doesn’t say anything. His face is doing a dozen different things all at once.

Patrick really wants to do the right thing here, but he isn’t sure what that is. “David, if you want to tell him off, I will be here. If you want to slip out the back, I will get you out of here so fast you won’t know what happened.” He pauses, unsure about the next part, but he can’t help himself. “And if you want me to kick his ass, I’m pretty sure I can take him. He may be taller, but I’ve played hockey my whole life. I know how to scrap.”

David looks at Patrick and grins that grin that feels like the sun bursting through on a cloudy day. “I am positive you could take Sebastien in a fight, and as much as I’d love to see that, I think you were right the first time. I think I do have things to say to him.”

Patrick nods encouragingly. “Whatever you want, David. I’ve got your back.”

David squeezes his hand and takes a little time to blink back the tears that are threatening. “I like the sound of that.” He lets go of Patrick’s hand and stands up. He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” Patrick says, and he hopes David feels everything he means with those words.

%%%

David doesn’t make it all the way to the bar before Sebastien notices him and walks toward him. “David,” he says in a lazy, throaty voice meant to be sexy. “My god. Look at you.” He grasps David’s shoulders and looks him up and down. You look so… healthy.” It isn’t an insult, technically, but it sounds like one. He hugs David and all over the room cell phones are out, snapping pictures and filming. Everyone is keenly aware of the history between these men. It was tabloid fodder for years. This interaction will be all over the internet in a matter of moments. 

David doesn’t return the hug or the cheek kiss that Sebastien bestows upon him. “Hello, Sebastien,” he says. “Perhaps we could speak somewhere a bit more private?”

Sebastien chuckles and says, “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary.” David knows Sebastien feels confident he can handle anything David might do or say. Beyond that, Sebastien’s simply enjoying the attention this interaction is getting and will continue to get online once people start posting. He can tell by the way Sebastien’s eyes move over the crowd, taking note of each phone angled in their direction, that Sebastien is thinking about all the free publicity that will come of this little reunion.

David feels anger ignite and flame hot in his belly. Even now, even after everything, Sebastien is still using him. They haven’t seen one another in years and literally the first thing Sebastien does is use him to get himself trending on Twitter.

“God, you really  _ are _ an unapologetic asshole.” David says a little louder than he means to.

Around him there are gasps of surprise and the room is suddenly much quieter. No one wants to miss anything. 

“Your pain makes you angry, David, but it also makes you beautiful. I feel your words deeply. I want you to know that I care about what happened between you and me.” Sebastien reaches out to cradle David’s face in both hands and continues, “And while my therapist said I should never feel sorrow, I do appreciate your pain. And I want to explore it.”

David jerks his face away and bites out a harsh laugh. “You don’t feel anything, deeply or otherwise, Sebastien. You’re a monster who uses people and steals from them.”

This time the gasps from the crowd are louder.

David plunges ahead before Sebastien can respond. “I was young and in love and you used that. You stole the songs  _ we _ wrote and used them to launch your solo career and you’ve never once looked back, never once cared what that did to me. You’re a terrible person and a shit lay and a thieving asshole who doesn’t deserve another moment of my time. I thought I needed to talk things through with you in order to feel closure, but you know what?” David laughs. “I don’t. I  _ really _ don’t. You don’t matter. I can’t believe I ever thought you did.” The words are a revelation, and they are true. He laughs again, bright and happy. “You don’t matter. And I don’t care.”

David turns his back on Sebastien and the crowd parts before him. He walks calmly back to the table where Patrick is standing, waiting for him and positively beaming at him. David feels invincible. He takes Patrick’s hand and they walk out of the restaurant together and into the cool night air. 

They walk for a couple of blocks in silence. David is replaying everything in his head, expecting to find a mistake he made, something he shouldn’t have said, but he feels good about all of it. He feels lighter than he has in a long, long time. 

Suddenly Patrick tugs him around the corner of a building, backs him up against a brick wall and crashes his mouth into David’s. He grips the back of David’s neck and opens his mouth immediately, licking David’s lips open and sliding his tongue into David’s mouth, taking what he wants. He wraps his other arm around David’s waist and pulls him tight. He kisses David until David can’t breathe and has to tear his mouth away to gasp for air. When he does, Patrick drags his mouth to the spot under David’s ear and starts licking and sucking the sensitive skin there. “Jesus, David,” he whispers hoarsely between biting kisses, “That was amazing.  _ You _ are amazing.” He captures David’s mouth again and David moans into the kiss. He grabs Patrick’s hips and pulls him tighter against himself. Patrick rocks against David before suddenly pushing himself away. David doesn’t like the cold air that rushes over him when Patrick steps back. He whines and reaches for Patrick.

Patrick chuckles softly, takes a deep breath and says, “Yeah. Me, too.” He wipes his mouth with the back of one hand and looks at David with fire in his eyes. “But I think we should take this somewhere else.”

Ugh. He’s right. David pushes away from the wall, grabs Patrick by the hand, and starts walking as fast as his long legs can, which is pretty fast, and Patrick laughs as he stumbles a little and is then dragged along. “Come on, Patrick,” he demands loudly, “Keep up!”

%%%

David’s apartment is closest and that’s really all that matters to Patrick. He’s trying to keep calm but he feels like he’s flying, and not just because David is walking them so fast. He’s excited and nervous and he can’t ever remember feeling this turned on before in his life. A small part of him is worried about not knowing exactly what to do. He wants to be good for David. He wants to _make_ David feel good. He tries to reassure himself. Bodies are bodies, and given that they have the same kind of body it should be easier to figure out how to make David feel good, right? God. He has no idea. He’ll figure it out. He just needs to get behind a closed door with David soon, like _now_ , before he collapses from the intense need to press every part of himself against every part of David. 

The journey from the main entrance of David’s apartment building to the apartment door is much slower because they keep falling into one another for long minutes. They stand in the middle of the lobby kissing until the doorman clears his throat politely, at which point their kiss dissolves into giggles and they mumble apologies on their way past him to the elevator. They get distracted again while waiting for the elevator. David has pulled the collar of Patrick’s shirt to one side and is licking and nibbling on the muscle at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The scrape of David’s stubble on his neck feels like lightning sparking a brush fire that races all over his body. Patrick tilts his head back and groans softly. “Jesus, David.” The elevator dings and basic politeness should compel them to step away from one another in case anyone is exiting, but it doesn’t, and someone—a few someones, it sounds like— _ do _ walk past and he hears some smothered chuckles. Patrick couldn’t care less. They barely manage to stumble into the elevator, tripping over one another’s feet and staggering, before the doors close again. 

Patrick puts both hands on David’s chest and shoves him into the back wall of the elevator. David hits with enough force to rattle the elevator car and then Patrick is on him. He shoves his tongue into David’s mouth, hot and messy, and tugs David’s sweater up until he can get his hands onto David’s naked back. The sudden skin-to-skin contact causes them both to gasp into one another’s mouths. Patrick’s splayed hands smooth up David’s back until they reach his shoulders and then he digs his fingers in hard and drags them back down again. David thrusts against Patrick’s hip and moans loudly as the elevator doors open again. Fortunately, no one is waiting outside in the hallway. David pushes away from the elevator wall, grabs Patrick by the hand, and begins towing him quickly down the hall. 

When they reach the door, David starts fumbling with his keys and Patrick presses up against David’s back, impatient. Patrick’s erection lines up perfectly, hot and hard against David’s ass, and both men inhale sharply at the contact.

“Jesus, fuck, Patrick,” David pants. His hands go still and he presses his forehead to the door, eyes closed.

Patrick’s hand slides up David’s arm and to his fingers until he finds the keys. He takes them from David and slots the correct one into the door. “Open the damn door, David,” he grits out between heaving breaths. 

David opens the damn door.

Once they stumble through the entrance and lose contact David backs a couple of steps away from Patrick and holds up a hand. He inhales deeply and blows out a breath. “Okay, let’s just, uh… let’s pause for a moment. Is that okay?”

Patrick stops moving and stands very still. “Of course, David. Is everything okay?”

David huffs out a quiet laugh. “Everything is far better than  _ okay _ . I just want to check in with you about... this. You know, since, uh…” David trails off. 

Patrick smiles, touched by the care David is trying to take with him. He reaches up, presses a palm to David’s cheek and rubs a thumb over his cheekbone. “This really isn’t fair, you know.”

David shakes his head a little in confusion, “What?”

“That you’re this sweet and this hot at the same time.”

David smiles the pleased smile that twists to one side of his face and Patrick leans forward and kisses it softly before dropping his hand and allowing there to be space between them again. David is right. They should talk at least a little. “I’m okay, David,” he says reassuringly. “I guess I’m a little nervous, and I’m hoping you’ll guide me a bit if I need it, but I’m, uh—” he breaks eye contact for a moment and feels his face heat up, but he meets David’s eyes again, “I’m very much looking forward to what comes next.” He drops his gaze again and clears his throat before squaring his shoulders and looking David in the eye once more. “And if we’re being honest, I guess I should also tell you that I want more than just tonight with you.” He wants to say more, but stops there and waits.

David’s smile releases from its twist to one side and spreads across face. Then he turns serious and his eyes darken. “Okay.” He takes Patrick by the hand and leads him down the hall. 

When they reach the bedroom, Patrick’s eyes fall on the large bed that takes up so much of the room. He suddenly feels his heart start pounding. He can feel the rapid beat of it all over his body, in all of this pulse points. He can _hear_ it. His breath is coming fast. He doesn’t think he’s panicking exactly but his anxiety has definitely ratcheted up to a higher level. He begins breathing deeply, trying to control it. David turns and takes him in his arms gently, as if he senses what’s happening to Patrick. He kisses him soft and slow, for a long time, long enough for Patrick to settle into it, long enough for Patrick to become impatient and deepen the kiss again. He runs his hands up under David’s sweater and drags his fingers through David’s chest hair and thumbs at his nipples. David breaks from the kiss and moves his mouth to Patrick’s ear, where he gasps and hums his approval. Patrick gently pulls David’s sweater up and off him and lays it down on the bench in front of the bed.

When Patrick turns back, David immediately reaches out and begins slowly unbuttoning Patrick’s shirt, kissing him between each button release, on his mouth, on his jaw, on the taut cord of his neck. He pushes the open shirt slowly off Patrick’s shoulders and lays it next to his sweater on the bench. They each toe off their shoes and then for a moment they stand perfectly still and look at one another. Patrick places both palms on David’s chest again and slowly rubs up and down all the exposed skin, enjoying the crisp feel of his wiry hair, his flat chest, and the warmth of his skin. David cups the back of Patrick’s head and pulls him in for another soft, slow kiss. He’s letting Patrick choose when and how to escalate things between them and it’s not long before Patrick has had enough of soft and slow again. He walks David backwards until his knees hit the bed and he sits down. Patrick has a moment of not being sure what to do and hesitates. David takes his hands and pulls him forward until Patrick is standing between David’s legs. He rests his hand on Patrick’s belt and looks up at him. “Is this okay?” 

Patrick nods jerkily and then finds his voice. “Y-yes. Yes. Please.” 

%%%

David doesn’t immediately unbuckle Patrick’s belt. He wants Patrick to have a chance to change his mind or slow them down. So he rubs his palm over Patrick’s erection through his jeans and watches Patrick’s face. He can tell already that Patrick’s cock is going to be perfect and his mouth waters a bit at the thought. Patrick’s eyes drift closed and he presses his lips together. David continues rubbing his palm up and down Patrick through his pants, enjoying the size and shape of him, until Patrick gasps and moves away a bit. 

“David, if you don’t stop that I’m going to come in my pants.” 

David bites his lower lip and unbuckles Patrick’s belt slowly, as if he’s drawing out the anticipation of opening a gift. He watches Patrick’s face as he unbuttons his jeans and slides them down until Patrick can step out of them. His sensible white boxer briefs are barely containing him at this point and David stares, hypnotized, until Patrick clears his throat nervously. David’s eyes snap up to Patrick’s face. “Sorry,” he says. He stands up then and shucks his own pants as quickly as possible. He barely hesitates before pushing his underwear down and stepping out of them as well. If Patrick is going to panic or change his mind, it will probably be now. They stand facing each other and David watches him and waits.

It’s Patrick’s turn to stare. David knows he’s got a decent cock. Well, better than decent, actually, if he’s being honest, but knowing it’s the first one Patrick has encountered in this particular context is making him a little self-conscious. Before he can get too up in his head about it, Patrick is groaning, pulling David against him, and latching his mouth on David’s in a deep and wild kiss that gets hotter and more intense until they are pushing and pulling at each other in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs and they end up falling onto the bed, mouths locked together, panting, hips rolling against one another. Patrick is gripping David’s hair hard enough to hurt just a little, and in just the right way. They are both gasping and shuddering.

David wrenches his mouth free and puts a palm on Patrick’s chest, pushing him away and preventing him from claiming David’s mouth again. He slides his other hand up the back of Patrick’s head, clenches his fingers in Patrick’s hair and forces his head back, exposing the long line of his neck. David is transported back to that night at the Open Door and his fantasies about using his tongue and his teeth on Patrick’s neck. He spends the next several minutes doing everything he thought about that night until Patrick is writhing and gasping David’s name. Then he trails kisses down to Patrick’s chest and takes one of his nipples into his mouth, teasing it until it’s hard enough for him to bite down on. Patrick’s hips jerk forward and he hisses. David licks gently over the bitten nipple and then moves and repeats the process on the other side. 

“Oh, my god… David...“ One of Patrick’s hands clenches in David’s hair again and the other grips his shoulder so hard that David can feel the bite of his fingernails. He rests his chin on Patrick’s chest for a moment. “Okay up there?”

“God,” Patrick gasps. “Yes.”

David chuckles. “Good.” He shifts down a little lower and drags his cheek and chin back and forth across the soft skin of Patrick’s belly. It hasn’t escaped his attention that Patrick really likes how David’s stubble feels, and he’s not disappointed by Patrick’s reaction. His entire body shakes and he moans David’s name loudly. David scoots down even farther, until Patrick’s cock is directly in front of his face. He opens his mouth and exhales a hot breath over the bulge in Patrick’s briefs and Patrick gasps. David uses his cheek to nuzzle his erection and Patrick’s gasp turns into panting. Finally, David slides his fingers under the waistband and looks up at him again. He waits for Patrick to open his eyes and look at David before he says, “Okay?” once more.

“Fuck, David, yes. Please.  _ Please _ .” Patrick’s pupils are blown wide now and he’s flushed and sweating. Instead of dropping his head back on the bed again he wedges one arm under his head and watches David, mouth hanging open slightly.

David lifts the waistband up and over Patrick’s cock and then pushes and pulls his briefs all the way off. David kneels between Patrick’s legs and looks at him for a while. His cock is as gorgeous as David had imagined, thick and so very hard. It twitches a little under his gaze and David smiles at it. “Hi, there.” 

He hears Patrick huff out a soft laugh in response. David looks up at Patrick’s face, locks eyes with him, and leans forward slowly until he’s close enough to drag his tongue along Patrick’s length from base to tip, without ever breaking eye contact. Patrick’s entire body clenches and he inhales sharply, “Jesus, David.  _ Fuck. _ I’m—-this—this isn’t going to take long.”

David smiles reassuringly up at him and then wraps his hand around Patrick and guides the head of his cock into his mouth. He rubs his tongue over the slit and swirls his tongue around it before beginning to gently suck rhythmically on just the head. Patrick’s hips are twitching already so David slings an arm across them and presses them into the mattress. Then he dips down until Patrick’s entire length is in his mouth and he can feel Patrick’s head bump against the back of his throat. Patrick’s gasps and moans get louder. David hollows his cheeks and sucks as hard as he can while sliding back up slowly then back down fast and hard, lips taut around Patrick’s girth.

“Fuck, David!” Patrick shouts and writhes under David’s hands. David does it again. Again. And once more before Patrick scrabbles his hands over David’s head and shoulders in warning. “David!” he cries out and comes explosively in David’s mouth, hips jerking wildly. David moans around Patrick’s cock and swallows and swallows, and then gentles Patrick through the aftershocks. He releases Patrick from his mouth and relaxes his grip on Patrick’s hips, smoothing his hands down Patrick’s thighs and watching him carefully. 

After a few gasping breaths, Patrick reaches down and hauls David up so he can kiss him long and deep, tongue sweeping through David’s mouth as he hums happily. He wraps his arms around David tightly and hooks his legs over David’s. It’s a full body hug and it makes David smile wide enough to break the kiss. He pulls back enough to be able to look at Patrick’s face. “Hi,” he says.

Patrick’s eyes flutter open and he smiles back at David. “Hi.” 

“How are you doing?” David asks quietly. 

Patrick face cracks into a grin bright enough to power a city. “I’ve never been better.” 

Patrick’s grin turns ornery and deliberate just before he flips them over in one quick movement that takes David’s breath away. 

“Oh,” David exclaims softly in pleased surprise.

Patrick raises his eyebrows briefly and smiles smugly before settling in to kiss David senseless. He begins moving down David’s body, kissing and biting until David is gasping for breath and squirming. He expects Patrick to reverse course and work his way back up David’s body but to his surprise Patrick settles himself between David’s legs and begins rubbing his hands up and down David’s thighs absently while he stares at David’s flushed and leaking cock. 

He stares long enough that David begins to feel concerned. He reaches down and cups Patrick’s cheek and tilts his face so he can see his eyes. “Hey.”

Then they both been speaking at the same time. “You don’t have to—” David says at the same time as Patrick says, “Is it okay if I—”

David chuckles. “I want you to do whatever you want to do, Patrick, whatever you’re comfortable doing. And if that’s nothing at all, that’s okay.” 

Patrick surges up David’s body and kisses him hard and deep as he wraps one hand around David’s cock. David gasps and thrusts into Patrick’s hand once in surprised response. Patrick uses his thumb to spread the wetness dripping from David around and pumps him a few times gently but firmly while plunging his tongue into David’s mouth in the same rhythm. David moans into Patrick’s mouth and clenches his shoulders, and suddenly Patrick’s mouth is gone again, having dropped back down to suck a bruise into David’s hip, never once breaking the rhythm of his strokes on David’s cock. Patrick shifts a bit and pulls the head of David’s cock into his mouth and begins rubbing his tongue up and down over David’s frenulum in the same rhythm as his hand on David’s shaft. David is panting now and he should be embarrassed by how quickly he feels his orgasm building. 

Patrick begins to struggle to keep his hand and mouth working together, though, and he loses his rhythm. David can feel the vibration of the frustrated sound Patrick makes before his mouth pops off David’s dick and his hand takes over, coming up to twist over the head on each upstroke, his grip tighter, his rhythm faster. At first he licks and bites at David’s hip and thigh while he strokes him but as David’s breath comes faster and his hips thrust into Patrick’s hand harder he leaves off and simply watches, his gaze traveling back and forth between David’s cock and David’s face, until finally David’s back arches away from the bed and he gasps out, “Fuck, Patrick. Patrick!” and comes. 

Patrick relaxes his grip but leaves his hand cupped over David loosely as David’s breathing slows and his muscles relax. He slides up alongside David and noses along his jawline, dropping small kisses, and eventually presses his mouth to David’s for a soft kiss. “Don’t move,” he whispers as he gets up.

“Don’t worry,” David whispers back and smiles. “I won’t.”

Patrick chuckles as he pads away to the bathroom. David’s too blissed out to watch him go, which is probably a missed opportunity, but his eyelids weigh too much now and it can’t be helped. He barely registers the sensation of the warm cloth on his skin or the cool whisper of the sheet as it is pulled over him, but when Patrick pushes him over onto his side and presses up against his back David sighs happily before giving in to the irresistible tide of sleep tugging at him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to @this-is-not-nothing for earning her contractual acknowledgement by coming up with the funniest thing in this chapter, which I won't spoil for you. You're kind of brilliant, friend.
> 
> Continued thanks to @RhetoricalQuestions and @ThePause for being so supportive and lovely, and for making my writing infinitely better.

Patrick wakes up slowly. The first thing he registers is the musky, slightly sweet smell of the back of David’s neck, which Patrick has his face buried in. The next thing he notices is the pleasantly scratchy feeling of David’s chest hair under his palm. Patrick inhales deeply, lips curving into a satisfied smile, as he presses against David. The movement of his body brings another situation to his attention. He’s very hard and his erection is positioned perfectly against David’s ass. Before he fully realizes what he’s doing Patrick gasps and presses his hips forward into David with a low moan. 

David’s sleepy chuckle is inaudible, but Patrick can feel it under his fingers, in the small movement of David’s chest. David tilts his head back and twists it, trying to see Patrick’s face. “Morning,” he croaks.

“Sorry,” Patrick murmurs, shivering with pleasure at the deep rumble of David’s voice. He kisses the cluster of freckles just beneath David’s ear. 

“Mmmm, no,” David whispers groggily as he turns over to face Patrick. “We’re not doing _sorry_.” He reaches down to wrap his hand around Patrick’s cock and begins gently rubbing his thumb over the tip. 

Patrick groans at the contact, cups the back of David’s head, and pulls him into a deep kiss. Morning breath be damned. It’s not long before they are both panting and grasping at each other. David rolls away suddenly and Patrick whines and reaches for him. David grabs lube out of the bedside table and rolls back to face him quickly, kissing him deeply while he strokes lube over both their cocks. He clicks the bottle closed and tosses it aside, then grabs Patrick’s hips and hauls him over and on top of himself, slippery hand skidding over Patrick’s skin. He spreads his legs to make room for Patrick between them.

“Oh, my god,” Patrick breathes as their cocks line up together between the press of their bodies. 

David smiles into a kiss. “Mmm-hmm.”

They begin rocking together, slowly at first, trading kisses, hands roaming, mapping the terrain of one another’s bodies more slowly and carefully than they had the night before, beginning to learn where and how the other likes to be touched. Soon they are moaning and thrusting, gasping each other’s names, shaking and cursing, and coming one after the other between them. Patrick collapses on top of David, boneless with pleasure, too overcome to worry about the mess. They smile and whisper words of praise to each other between lazy kisses for a long time.

Eventually, David tries to wiggle out from under Patrick but Patrick squeezes him tighter, holding him in place. “Come on, now. We need to clean up,” David says.

Patrick’s face is pressed tightly into David’s neck. He feels sleepy and content. “Don’t wanna,” he mumbles against David’s skin. And he doesn’t. He _really_ doesn’t. He wants to stay like this, pressed against David, melted into him, unsure where he stops and David begins, for as long as possible.

“Come on,” David says again and this time when he pushes on him, Patrick allows himself to be moved but he gives David an injured look. “Oh, my god,” David says, “Are you _pouting?”_

“No,” Patrick says, brows drawn together and down over his eyes, fully pouting now. 

David smirks and kisses Patrick’s lower lip, which is absolutely sticking out. He kisses it again, sucking on it briefly, and then quirks a smile at Patrick. “Let’s take a shower.”

Patrick stops pouting immediately, rolls out of bed, and reaches for David’s hand. “Yes, please. Let’s do that,” he says and starts tugging David to the bathroom. David laughs out loud in delight at Patrick’s sudden change in attitude and Patrick grins. Patrick is thrilled to have elicited an actual laugh from David— something he’s noticed David doesn’t do very often. He moves quickly, dragging David along, and repeats David’s words from last night back to him. “Come on, David. Keep up!” David laughs again.

%%%

The shower takes much longer than it should and they’re going to be late for their reserved time at the studio but David is still finding it difficult to actually leave the apartment, to leave this space where it’s just them and everything feels good and right. He’s organized everything he needs for the day and put on the oversized gray hoodie that makes him feel like he’s being hugged, and he’s still not ready for the real world. Patrick has been standing by the door, waiting patiently for him for several minutes now and David has run out of excuses and reasons to delay their exit. He finally joins Patrick at the door. 

Patrick stares at him for a moment and then kisses him lightly and pulls him into a hug. “Thank you, David,” he says quietly.

David pulls back to look in his eyes, confused. “For what?”

“For everything. For this opportunity, for _last night_ , for being _you_.” He’s blinking at David with those warm, sincere eyes and David is once again blown away by how open and honest Patrick is. 

For being _him_? Patrick doesn’t look annoyed by David’s lateness or his moodiness. He isn’t telling him he’s too much or he’s being ridiculous. He seems to… just… _like_ him. David feels warmth bloom in his chest and spread. He nudges Patrick’s nose with his own and kisses him briefly, just a feather-light press of lips, but suddenly he’s uncomfortable with the intensity of what he’s feeling so he hides behind a joke he’s made before. “Fortunately, I am a very generous person.”

Patrick lets him hide. He just grins and shakes his head. “Come on, David. Let’s go record our song.” As they pass through the doorway David has a moment of remembering what it felt like last night when they were struggling to get this door open and get inside. He remembers how all that want had felt rocketing around his body, and he shivers a little, but keeps the thought to himself. They are already late.

Stevie is waiting when they arrive at the studio and she looks both irritated and smug. Her face makes it clear she knows what’s happened between the two of them and why they are late, and Patrick leans into David a little and whispers, “Did you tell her about last night?” 

David whispers back, “No, she’s just a witch. I swear she can read minds, and she’s _really_ good at getting people to do what she wants. It’s possible she turns into a black cat at the full moon as well.”

Patrick barks a short laugh before trying to cover it up by making out like it’s a cough. David feels a giggle bubble in his chest but he swallows it down and flutters a hand over Patrick’s shoulder and then rubs between his shoulder blades for a moment in response to the coughing, but really because he just wants to touch him again, before stepping away from him a little.

Stevie rolls her eyes. “Neither of you are subtle. Patrick, go get the piano track recorded. Time is money here. Move it.” She snaps her fingers at him.

David whispers, “Told you,” as Patrick hurries away to do as Stevie says.

Once he’s safely out of earshot Stevie turns to David and smirks, “Have a good night?”

“And morning. Yes, thank you.” David preens.

He expects a lot more teasing— or actual torture—from Stevie but she just looks at him appraisingly for a bit and then says, “You like him.” 

“Um. Duh?” David rolls his eyes.

“No,” she says seriously. “You _like_ him.”

David recoils and makes a face like he’s tasted something bitter. “Ew. Stop it. What’s wrong with you?” He’s trying to get Stevie back on script. They don’t talk about actual feelings.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this look on you before, David.” 

She doesn’t mean his outfit but he pretends to misunderstand. He pulls the body of the enormous hoodie away from himself to redistribute the way it drapes on him and then smooths the gray fabric over his hips. He does especially love this piece. It’s very cozy. “Thank you. It’s Rick Owens, of course.” 

She stares at him and he can see she’s deciding whether or not to press the issue and then, finally, thank god, she lets it go and returns to regular programming. “It looks like you’re wearing elephant skin.”

David drops his mouth open in horror and gasps, “Rude” before sweeping away to go watch Patrick and begin his own preparations for recording.

Three hours later they’ve gotten the entire song recorded to their satisfaction and they listen to it one last time. As the final note fades Stevie says, “You guys happy with it?”

David looks at Patrick and says, “I am. What about you?”

Patrick nods. “I’m happy if you’re happy.”

“Okay,” Stevie says. “For some insane reason Twyla’s asked us to bring the song over to them personally instead of just sending them an .mp3 file.”

“What? Why?” David asks. 

Stevie shrugs. “Something about it being important that she be able to look at you and feel your intention while she listens to the song. I have literally no idea what the fuck that means. So, let’s get going, boys.” She leads them out of the building and into a cab. 

%%%

Patrick is trying really hard to be cool and not seem overwhelmed by the size and luxury of Twyla’s penthouse. He can’t begin to wrap his mind around how much a place like this must cost in this part of the city. At one point he catches Stevie’s eye and is a little relieved to see she is having the same response he is. David is the only one that seems unimpressed, which tracks. Patrick wonders if David misses having all of this. He’s so distracted he nearly walks into a sofa and David gently grabs his elbow and steers him around it so they can sit down next to Stevie. 

After a minute or two Ronnie and Twyla appear and the three of them stand up again to greet the two women. Twyla kisses David and Stevie and then offers her hand to Patrick. “Hello,” she says sweetly, “I’m Twyla.” 

“H-hi,” Patrick stammers. Dammit. She’s just a person, he reminds himself. A super famous, crazy rich, slightly strange, and really talented person, who can make his entire life, or break it. No big deal. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hi, I’m Patrick. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Oh!” Twyla exclaims brightly. “I had an uncle named Patrick. At least, I think he was my uncle. That was back when all those men were living with my Aunt Joanna, and we eventually found out they were all in some sort of cult that believed aliens were coming to take them to space. They ended up moving out to the desert and we’ve never seen them again, so maybe they did make it to space eventually.”

Patrick, David, and Stevie all trade quick, _What the hell?_ looks with one another and then smile uncertainly at Twyla and then at Ronnie. 

“Anyway!” Twyla chirps happily. “Let’s hear the song you brought me! I’m sure it’s wonderful.” 

Ronnie steps forward and hands Twyla a phone and a pair of high-end earphones. Twyla sits down on the coffee table, so close to David and Patrick that their knees are bumping, smiles at them serenely, puts the earphones on, closes her eyes, and presses ‘play.’

The room is completely silent. David and Stevie begin exchanging nervous looks with one another, while Patrick watches them, trying to decide if this is all actually as weird as it feels to him. Why is she listening to the song this way? Why not play it over the speakers so they can all listen? Why is it important for them to be here in person like this? Based on their expressions, this _is_ all odd, and apparently the song is much longer than Patrick thought because it feels like they’ve been waiting for Twyla to finish listening to it for days now. 

Finally, _finally,_ Twyla opens her eyes and pulls off the earphones. She stands up and holds her hands out to David and Patrick. They also stand up and each take one of her hands. She stares at them intently, one and then the other, and then she steps forward and pulls them forward into a group hug with her. Just as Patrick begins to wonder if Twyla will ever speak again and what, exactly, the fuck, is going on, she says, “This is it. This is the song I’ve been looking for.”

“It is?!” David’s voice is high. Patrick looks back and forth between David and Twyla, still processing what she just said.

Twyla nods. “It is.” She just stands there, beaming at them. 

David looks at Patrick, and Patrick feels like he’s about to fly apart, he’s so happy. “David! David, we did it!” He wants to throw himself at David, hug him, kiss him, spin him around. He barely restrains himself from doing all of it. He settles for grabbing David’s shoulders and grinning up at him.

David’s smile in return is small and tense, like he’s still not quite sure he heard it correctly, like he thinks someone is about to say, “Just kidding!” Patrick hates the uncertainty he sees in the smile. He squeezes David’s shoulders and nods at him, encouraging him to trust it, “We did it,” he says again.

Twyla is still beaming at them. “I’m really looking forward to working with you, David and Patrick. Our song is going to be so beautiful.” She presses her hands together and does that weird little yoga bow thing at each of them and then drifts out of the room in a swish of silky skirt, flowing hair, and floral perfume. 

Ronnie steps forward and in her calm, apathetic monotone she addresses Stevie, “Congratulations. We’ll be in touch soon to set up a rehearsal schedule. The Madison Square Garden show is next weekend. We will debut the song at the concert and then follow up by including it on Twyla’s new album.” As she’s speaking, Ronnie is ushering them to the door.

Stevie stops walking and holds up their progress. She matches Ronnie’s dry, unemotional tone perfectly when she says, “I assume you’ll be getting me some contracts to look at while we _consider_ this _proposed_ use of my clients’ song?”

Ronnie throws her head back and laughs loudly. “That’s a good one, little girl. You’ve got spunk. I like it.” 

Stevie doesn’t smile and doesn’t speak again. She’s looking at Ronnie calmly but Patrick can see her fingers drumming a bit on her leg, which is the only evidence that she’s nervous. 

Ronnie waves her hand casually, “Of course we’ll send over some contracts, but there won’t be any _negotiation_ here. This is a take it or leave it deal.” She holds open the front door and looks at Stevie expectantly. 

Stevie nods and tries to save a little face. “I’d like those contracts as soon as possible,” she says, and they all three walk out.

Ronnie chuckles low and soft and says, “Uh-huh,” before she closes the door on them. 

Once the three of them reach the street in front of the building Patrick can’t contain himself any longer. He grabs David by the hips. “David! You did it! She chose our song! This is huge!” He moves his hands up to David’s shoulders and shakes him a little. 

David still seems dazed and unsure. He focuses on Patrick’s face and Patrick can see the moment that everything starts to land for him. David’s eyes begin to shine and he smiles the big smile that parts the clouds and rains sunshine down on Patrick. “We did it,” he whispers. 

“We did,” Patrick whispers back.

David turns to Stevie. “We really did it?” he asks her.

“Yeah, dummy. You were literally right there when she said it. God.” Stevie is saying the right words. She’s talking to him in the same blunt, sarcastic voice she always uses, but her eyes are watery and her mouth is wobbling in a way that will soon either be a laugh or a sob. She suddenly jerks forward and throws her arms around David for a split second before pulling away just as quickly and shoving at one of his shoulders and clearing her throat. “Jesus, I need a drink.”

Patrick smiles at both of them and watches as David blinks back his own unshed tears and nods his head emphatically at her. “Oh, god, a drink, yes.”

%%%

David sips his martini and lets Ray’s excited babbling wash over him. This third martini is as good as the two before it, and the combination of joy and alcohol coursing through his body is making him more patient than he might otherwise be. Still, he’s listened to Ray tell _him_ the story of Twyla choosing their song twice now, as if David hadn’t been there, and hadn’t been the one to tell Ray the story in the first place. And now, he would really like this to be the last time Ray tells him the story. He nods along until Ray pauses for breath and then interjects. “Thank you so much, Ray. We are _also_ very excited about it. I need to find Patrick and Stevie right now, though, so we can go over some of the details.”

Ray grins. “Of course, of course. Yes.” He glances over David’s shoulder and continues, “I do not know where Stevie is, but Patrick seems to be starting an impromptu open mic night!”

David spins around on the bar stool and looks to find Patrick up on the little stage, adjusting the strap of his guitar and trying to get the attention of the crowd. Patrick’s not drunk, but he’s definitely drunk- _adjacent_ and it’s adorable. He’s loose and smiley and his cheeks are flushed. God, he’s attractive. David’s going to have to cut them both off soon and get them hydrated because he has _plans_ for them this evening. He bites his bottom lip and smiles at Patrick, already thinking about how he wants the rest of the evening to go.

The crowd goes quiet and looks at Patrick expectantly. “Hi, everybody,” he says. “I’d like to dedicate this song to a very special someone in my life,” he pauses and turns a smart-ass grin on David. _Uh-oh_ , David thinks. “David Rose,” Patrick says and points at David. “There he is. Can’t miss him.”

Stevie sidles up next to David and gestures at the stage with her beer. “I think this is gonna be good.”

“Oh, god,” David breathes. “What fresh hell is this?” 

Patrick starts to play and David doesn’t recognize the song. He furrows his brow as he tries to figure it out. It’s slow and pretty but fairly basic. Whatever it is, it’s been stripped down to its bones musically. Then Patrick begins to sing.

_When the visions around you, bring tears to your eyes_

_And all that surrounds you, are secrets and lies_

_I'll be your strength, I'll give you hope_

_Keeping your faith when it's gone_

David squints at Patrick. He still doesn’t quite recognize [ the song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rppVf1UGbKM), but it’s definitely familiar. If he weren’t half-drunk he would recognize it by now.

_The one you should call, was standing here all along_

_And I will take you in my arms, and hold you right where you belong_

_Till the day my life is through, this I promise you_

_This I promise you_

David slams his martini glass down on the bar—carefully so as not to spill of course, he’s not a monster—and lurches to his feet. “Oh. My. Fucking. God!” he shouts at Patrick, not caring that every head in the place turns to him.

Stevie is laughing hysterically and hiccuping with her hands clapped over her mouth, rocking back and forth and trying desperately to rein it in so she doesn’t miss a second of this.

David is waving his hands about wildly in Patrick’s direction, in exasperation, and Patrick is still grinning while he sings _right at David_. 

David shouts—he’s definitely drunker than he thought he was—across the bar again, “Are you seriously singing an NSYNC song at me right now?! What is WRONG with you?!”

Patrick giggles— _giggles!_ —and stumbles a bit, laughing through the next couple of lines, but then gets it back together and continues the song. The crowd is eating it up, laughing at the song and at David’s outsized reaction to it.

Stevie’s still struggling to stop laughing and she’s wiping away tears as she says, “Do you think he has any idea about your feud with Justin?”

“Clearly not!” David huffs. “He would never sing _this song_ at me if he did.”

“Come on, David. I mean, aren’t you glad you didn’t win the Boy Band Battle for Britney’s Affections, all things considered?” Stevie is using air quotes and mimicking the tabloid headlines from those days with pure glee.

David glares at her and waves a hand dismissively. “That’s not the point. Justin played dirty. He knows what he did! He was not a _gentleman_.”

Stevie snorts. “All’s fair in love and war.”

“Whatever,” David sniffs and focuses on Patrick again. The choice of song is ridiculous. The entire situation is, actually. But by the end of the song there is a different energy flowing between them. Patrick’s shit-eating grin is gone and it’s been replaced by something softer. He’s gazing at David more seriously as he sings the last lines. 

_Every word I say is true, this I promise you_

_Oooh, I promise you_

The room erupts in applause and Patrick smiles at them bashfully. “Thanks for humoring me, guys.” He puts the guitar away, switches off the mic, and walks straight to David, quickly and politely acknowledging a few compliments along the way. When he reaches David he nudges himself between David’s legs and leans forward, putting his hands on the bar on either side of David. 

“Oh,” David breathes in surprise right before Patrick’s lips meet his own. 

The kiss is brief and chaste but it’s still a very public display of affection and David raises his eyebrows in surprise. 

Patrick smiles and presses his lips to David’s again, a little longer, and a little less chaste, before pulling back and saying, “Oops, I did it again,” and grinning at David expectantly. 

David gasps in horror. “You did _all of this_ just so you could troll me about Britney Fucking Spears choosing Justin over me?!”

Patrick shrugs and says, “Maybe?” Then he begins giggling helplessly and drops his head to David’s shoulder. “Ray mentioned the feud on one of his rambling speeches about your band days.”

“You are the actual worst,” David hisses at him, which just makes Patrick laugh harder. Patrick tries to kiss him again but his continued giggling makes it impossible. Soon David is laughing too, despite himself, and he starts pinching Patrick’s sides in punishment. “The worst!”

Patrick steps back to escape David’s pinches and they stand a more respectable distance from one another and smile, completely unaware of anything or anyone except each other. David is about to suggest they go back to his place when he hears a woman’s voice say, “Patrick?”

Patrick turns to look at the petite redhead standing next to them and all of the blood rushes out of his face. He sways a little and David reaches out to steady him. “Rachel, what are you doing here?”

“Me?” the woman—Rachel—says, gesturing at David and Patrick, “What are you doing _here_?” The way she says it makes it clear she means what is he doing with _David_.

Patrick is looking back and forth between the two of them, panic and alarm radiating from him. His eyes are wide and he’s breathing fast. Finally, he settles on looking at David. He grabs his shoulder so tightly it hurts, “David, I—she’s—this is—”

Rachel talks over him, “I _was_ his fiancée. Patrick, we need to talk.”

David lurches up off the bar stool, nearly knocking Patrick down. “ _Fiancée?_ ” he says in a stunned voice before swaying backwards himself, the edge of the bar digging into his back. 

Patrick grabs both of his arms and eases him back onto his seat and keeps hold of him. 

“Fiancée?” David repeats softly, his chest is heaving and he feels like he’s going to vomit. 

Patrick is still holding onto him and he’s stumbling over his words, rushing to get them out, “We used to be engaged but we’re not now. I—” he glances at the redhead and his eyes are soft and apologetic when he looks at her, he cares about this woman, “—I broke it off when I moved here.”

Rachel is speaking at the same time as Patrick and David’s head is spinning as he tries to process what both of them are saying. “I’ve been texting you for days. Patrick! What is going on?” Her eyes are filled with tears but her voice is strong.

 _Texting you for days._ The words bounce and clatter around David’s brain, echoing and repeating.

Patrick turns to her. “Rach, you’re right. We do need to talk.”

He turns back to David, his eyes pleading. “David, I need to speak with Rachel, but I will explain everything to you after that, I promise.” 

David blanches at his choice of words, given the song Patrick just sang, and laughs harshly. “You _promise_?” 

Patrick’s mouth drops open and he looks horrified as he makes the same connection. “No! I mean, yes! Yes, I promise. Please, David. I need to speak with her and then I will explain everything.”

David stands up and pushes past Patrick. “Don’t bother.” He gathers up what dignity he has left and walks out of the bar without looking back. He feels rather than sees Stevie at his side and in that moment he loves her fiercely. She actually does have his back, and always will. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the song lyrics in this chapter you should yell at @ThePause because they are hers. It turned out I was completely incapable of writing song lyrics, which was super inconvenient given that writing them was crucial to my story, and she saved me. Ya’ll don’t want to know what kind of cringey nonsense I would’ve come up with on my own. (Feelings. Nothing more than feelings.) Thank you, friend. I owe you big.
> 
> Big thanks to @ahurston for last minute hand holding and hair patting.
> 
> And, as always, love and thanks to RQ for being awesome and making my words better.

They are sitting side-by-side on Patrick’s sofa, holding hands and leaning against one another, tears drying on their faces. Talking with Rachel has been incredibly difficult and Patrick feels raw and exhausted, but washed clean, by the experience. When they began talking, there had been tears—so many tears— and yelling, but after the initial crash of emotions, after all the adrenaline had been expelled, they had settled into old patterns, the good ones, and comforted one another. 

“I’m so sorry, Rach,” Patrick says for what feels like the hundredth time. “I just…” he shrugs…”I just _didn’t know_.” He considers for a moment and then continues, “It wasn’t that I was keeping it from you. I think— I think maybe I was keeping it from _me_.” He feels a fresh tear pool and slip down his cheek.

Rachel squeezes his hand. “I’m not sure I understand how you could _not_ know this about yourself. All this time-- We’ve been together so long, Patrick. I just-- I don’t understand.” 

She pauses and Patrick wants to explain it to her, but he can’t. Not yet. Maybe soon he will understand it better himself. Before he can think of how to reply, she continues, “But you aren’t confused _now_ , are you?”

He shakes his head and makes a humming noise to release the clench of emotion in his throat. “No.” The word sounds strangled. He works to clear his throat a second time and his words become more steady. “No, I’m not confused now. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He cringes and looks at Rachel, worried about hurting her.

“You mean David.” She pauses. “You’re—” her voice goes wobbly and she stops for a moment. “Are you in love with him, Patrick?”

He hasn’t let himself think about this yet and at her words Patrick feels a jolt of adrenaline race up his spine, taking his stomach along for the ride and then dropping it so suddenly he feels dizzy and nauseated. It’s not unlike how he felt the first time he and David locked eyes. “I— I think maybe I am.” 

Rachel gasps and fresh tears spill down her face. 

“God, Rachel. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have. I really don’t. But— but I owe you the truth.”

She shrugs ruefully. “I still love you the same way I always have. But you—” she claps her free hand over her mouth for a moment. When she has herself under control again she continues, “You love me differently now. Or maybe you always have loved me differently.” More tears slide down her face. “But I don’t know if I can change how I love you.”

Patrick doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do— it doesn’t matter because he can’t help himself anyway— and he gathers Rachel up into a tight hug. They rock back and forth and cry. After a long while, Rachel pulls back and presses a soft kiss to Patrick’s lips. Patrick cups her cheek and returns the kiss. Then Rachel stands up and says, “Goodbye, Patrick,” and begins to walk away. He holds her hand as long as he can, until the distance between them grows too big. Rachel leaves without looking back. 

After the door closes, Patrick falls onto his side on the sofa, curls his body in on itself as tightly as he can, and lets the tears come. He’s most likely just lost his best friend, the person who’s known him longer than anyone outside of family, the person he’s loved more than half his life— although not in the way he thought— and it’s his own stupid fault. He lets himself wallow and stew in his bad thoughts full of self-recrimination for a while, then he sits up again and works to shake it off. This isn’t over yet. He needs to go to David now. He can’t let this wait. He doesn’t want to let this wait.

His stomach clenches at the memory of David’s face when the word _fiancée_ went off like a bomb between them. Patrick sits up quickly and grabs his phone. He types out a short text.

_Patrick (10:11 pm):_

‘can I come over’

There is no immediate reply. Patrick gets up and goes to wash his face while he waits. He returns from the bathroom and puts his shoes back on. He taps the phone every time it goes back to sleep and stares at the open text message. Finally, he sees the three dots appear, then disappear, then dance at the bottom of the screen for a long time, and then disappear. Patrick’s breath is coming faster as his anxiety increases. Finally— _finally—_ David responds.

 _David (10:35 pm)_ : 

‘no’

Patrick stares at the screen and tries to calm his racing heart. Clearly, David had typed and erased several times before he decided what to send.

_Patrick (10:35 pm):_

‘david please let me come talk to you in person’

There is no response. No dots spring to life at the bottom of the message. Nothing. 

Patrick groans in frustration, “Come on, David!”

He stands up and shoves the phone in his pocket. He absolutely should not go over there. He should not. He should give David some space and try again tomorrow. He repeats these sentences to himself the entire way over to David’s apartment. 

When he arrives he goes directly to the front desk. He recognizes the doorman from the other night. He wonders if the man remembers him. “I’m here to see David Rose. I’m Patrick Brewer.”

The doorman places a call and has a quick, quiet conversation, presumably with David. He ends the call and smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not permitted to let you up.”

Fuck.

Patrick opens his mouth to… what?... to argue with the man? It’s not an argument he’s going to win. Patrick’s eyes flick to the bank of elevators and he calculates the odds of reaching them without being stopped. 

The doorman clocks him, and shifts his body to block Patrick’s path, letting him know he’s on to him, and is capable of physically stopping him. His eyes are kind, though, when he says, “Good evening, sir,” and gestures toward the front door.

Patrick’s shoulders slump in defeat and he walks out. As he reaches the street his phone buzzes in his pocket and he nearly drops it in his rush to get it out. _Please, David. Please, David. Please, David._ Running circles in his head. 

It’s not David.

_Stevie (11:07 pm):_

‘don’t leave yet’

_Patrick (11:07pm):_

‘what’s going on’

There is no reply. Patrick paces back and forth in front of the building. He feels like he might jump right out of his skin, he’s so wound up and anxious. 

Suddenly, as if she materialized from thin air, Stevie is there, right next to him. David might be right about her being a witch. At first some of the tension runs out of Patrick, but then it floods back again when he realizes Stevie is alone. His throat feels tight and he hums through it a bit, trying to find his voice. In the end he only says one word.“David?”

Stevie shakes her head.

“How is he?”

“Not great,” Stevie says. 

“Do you think...” Patrick trails off, thinking better of what he was about to say. “Stevie, how do I get him to talk to me?”

Stevie stares straight ahead. “He doesn’t want to see you. He doesn’t want to talk to you. He doesn’t want you to come to the rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Seriously?” Patrick says.

Stevie nods.

“Stevie, this is— this is too much. He’s got to let me explain. I am _not_ engaged. I haven’t been engaged for a while now. This isn’t— This doesn’t affect what he and I have.”

Stevie watches him carefully but doesn’t say anything. 

Patrick needs to talk to someone. He knows it shouldn’t be Stevie but he’s just finished destroying his relationship with his own best friend, and they’re here now and it all comes tumbling out of him. “I’ve never felt this way about someone before, Stevie. I _just_ found him. God. I think I might be in love with him. I can’t lose him. I don’t know what to do. I’ll do… anything. Stevie, I will literally do anything.” His hands are clenched in frustration and his voice shakes. “How do I get him to talk to me?”

He can see Stevie struggling with how— or if— she should respond. “Look,” she finally says, “David’s been burned so many times he’s basically the human equivalent of the inside of a roasted marshmallow. Everything inside him is telling him to protect himself. He doesn’t understand that sometimes it does work out, because it never has for him. Keep trying. Don’t give up.” 

She pats him on the shoulder awkwardly and goes back inside.

%%%

David is exhausted. The bags under his eyes have bags. “Ugh,” he whines at his reflection in the mirror as he dabs on more serum. 

His phone vibrates on the counter and David eyes it with trepidation and tries to calculate the odds of it being Patrick again. Finally, he picks it up and opens the notification. It’s a text from the doorman. There’s another delivery for David. The corner of David’s mouth twitches up a little and he presses his lips together before it can become a smile. He stares at Mirror David and tries to get him back with the program. _We aren’t smiling. We are in mourning. And we are angry. We are not happy about all the gifts._ He taps out a reply telling him to send up the delivery person. 

It’s been almost a week and Patrick hasn’t given up. David knows he should ignore or return the deliveries from Patrick, but the flowers are gorgeous and the gifts are thoughtful and… well… _someone_ has to eat the chocolates. The door buzzes and David goes to sign for the package. He closes the door and leans against it while he unwraps the gift. It’s a gorgeous silver bracelet that appears to match David’s favorite necklace. He puts it on and admires how it looks on his wrist.

He reads the card.

_D—_

_Let me make this okay._

_—P_

A small sound that is both a sob and a laugh bursts from David and he presses his fingers against his mouth to keep it from growing. He feels the sting of tears prick in the corners of his eyes. _Oh, wow. He’s good. Wow._

His phone buzzes again. Stevie is downstairs to fetch him for the sound check. 

“So,” Stevie says as he slides into the back of the cab, “I have some news.”

David tenses. “Tell me,” he says.

“Twyla insists Patrick be at the sound check today. She said she “understands about matters of the heart making life hard to live with joy but that the concert is at a fixed point in time and space and she needs both of you to appear in the same plane of existence as the music.” Or something like that. I stopped listening at a certain point.”

“Stop the cab!” David shouts.

“Do not stop the cab,” Stevie counters in a calm monotone.

The driver’s eyes look up in the rear view mirror and tick back and forth between them for a moment. Apparently, Stevie looks more threatening today because he keeps driving. What good _are_ these eyebrows if he can’t even properly menace a cab driver with them?

David folds his arms over his chest and glares out the window. 

“David, don’t make me do this.”

David turns back to her and tosses his hands in the air. “Do what?!”

Stevie glares at him and then sighs in frustration. “How much longer are you going to keep this up?”

“Excuse me?” David huffs.

“He didn’t actually do anything wrong, you know.” 

“EXCUSE ME?”

“Explain it to me. What exactly did he do?” Stevie asks gently.

It’s the gentleness of the question that deflates David’s rising anger instantly. He’s been avoiding dealing with the truth and she’s been letting him, but apparently they’ve reached the expiration date for his nonsense. She’s going to force him out of his rut, just like she always does when he gets stuck. She’s gonna force him to face the truth.

“Okay, there are certain lies I tell myself, and if you're any kind of a friend, you will let me cling to those lies,” David says quietly.

Stevie does her focused silence thing and just stares at him. She knows he will break eventually. He always, always does.

“He—” David starts to argue out of habit, and then realizes he doesn’t have the energy to continue with any of the pretense or games. He knows she’s right—Patrick didn’t really do anything wrong. He knows he overreacted because he’s afraid of getting hurt. He knows he’s trying to push Patrick away before Patrick can choose to leave. His eyes suddenly fill with tears and he clears his throat and tries to blink them away. “Well, for starters he should never have sung a fucking *NSYNC song to me.”

Stevie chuckles. “I don’t know. I thought it was pretty funny.” She pushes against him with her arm briefly and smiles.

And that’s the end of it. The anger is gone and David’s just left with the fear and he doesn’t know what to do with it, and they’re here now and before he knows it he’s out of the cab and in the building and there… there he is. There’s Patrick. Sitting at the piano on stage, looking like everything David ever wanted, the spotlight making him glow like a damn work of art.

David stands in the aisle, frozen with indecision, watching him from the shadows. Now that he’s looking more closely he can see how tired and sad Patrick is. Something soft and warm begins to unfurl in David’s chest. He’s still scared, but he thinks maybe he’s more scared of not being with Patrick than he is of being hurt again, so he starts to move forward, to take the step that will bring him forward out of the shadows and into the light, where Patrick can see him. As David moves, Patrick plays a single note on the piano and begins to sing quietly to himself, head bowed. David stops walking and listens. 

Then several things happen at once. David recognizes what song Patrick is singing. It’s “Crazy Love,” the same song he sang at the open mic on the night they met, the one that seemed to make him emotional. David remembers thinking that he was singing it about someone specific that night, about a woman, and he gasps when he realizes Patrick must have been thinking about Rachel that night. Patrick hears the gasp and his head snaps up and he looks around wildly until he sees David standing in the aisle, at the edge of the light. He stands up so suddenly the piano bench jumps and skitters across the stage behind him. 

“David!”

And David can’t. He thought he could. But he can’t. He turns and hurries back out of the theater. He can hear Patrick calling his name but he knows Patrick can’t easily get from the stage to the audience section because of all the security barriers. David will be long gone before Patrick can get to him. He’s almost out the lobby door when he feels a small hand grab his arm.

“David, what the hell?” Stevie asks. 

“I can’t. I have to go.”

“Two minutes ago you looked like you were ready to give it a try with him. I know you, David. What happened?”

Ugh. He needs to get out of here before Patrick catches up to him. The fastest way to do that is to give Stevie what she wants. _Fine_.

“That first night, when I went back to the Open Door for the open mic night, Patrick sang that song, and when he sang it…” David grimaces, “I know now he was singing about Rachel. And he was sad. And now he’s singing it again and I have to _go_ , Stevie. I can’t be here. I have to go.” He doesn’t wait for a response. He pushes past her and dashes out the door. 

And, Stevie, who he absolutely does not deserve, and will never deserve, climbs into the cab with him and doesn’t say a word. She pulls out her phone and types on it for a while. David assumes she’s letting Twyla’s people know David won’t be there, that he can’t be ‘on the same plane of existence’ with them, with Patrick.

They’re almost back to the apartment when David’s phone begins buzzing with a call. He looks at it and sighs. It’s Patrick. “Are you going to answer?” Stevie asks. He presses decline and puts the phone down. A few minutes later it buzzes again with the notification that Patrick’s left a voicemail. David ignores that too.

%%%

Patrick sighs and scrubs his hands over his face and then back and forth through his hair in frustration. He had been elated when he’d looked up to see David standing there watching him, but the joy died quickly when David immediately stormed out of the auditorium. If Stevie hadn’t texted him afterward Patrick would still have _no idea_ what set David off. Thank God for Stevie. He desperately hopes she will be able to get him to listen to the voicemail Patrick left. 

The concert begins in an hour and Patrick really, really does not want to do this, but he doesn’t know what else to do. If David doesn’t turn up _soon_ , Patrick is going to have to be the one to perform the song with Twyla, which is a terrifying thought. He doesn’t want to do it because it feels somehow like he would be betraying David, but if he doesn’t do it, the song won’t be performed at all, and all their work will have been for nothing. David’s comeback will fail before it has a chance to begin. It’s that thought that finally brings Patrick some much-needed clarity. He will do this. He will do it _for David_ so that when David is ready he can step back in and take advantage of the opportunity this song is providing. He hopes David will give him the chance to explain, to fix this, but in the meantime he can’t let David ruin this opportunity for himself. He needs to do everything he can to make sure the song is successful for David. 

Just then Ronnie appears next to him. “Sooo, Sunshine, I hear you may be the one performing tonight.”

Patrick’s mouth is dry and he swallows so hard he hears a clicking noise. “Uh, yeah.”

Ronnie squints at him dubiously. “And you can sing?”

Patrick straightens his shoulders and stands a little taller. “Yes, I can.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Ronnie looks him up and down. “Well, better get out there and give them some levels for the mics.”

“Okay, yup, I can do that,” Patrick says quickly and heads out to the stage again.

_Oh, God. Please let David show up. Please let David show up._

%%%

When he and Stevie get back to his apartment, David goes straight to his room. He doesn’t bother to turn on the light in his bedroom. He prefers the darkness. He’s going to prefer darkness for a while, he thinks dramatically. He sinks down slowly on the edge of his bed, dumping his phone next to him and dropping his head to stare at the floor. When he looks up again he sees Stevie has followed him. She’s leaning against the frame of the doorway. The light from the hall curves around her and leaves her face in shadow but David doesn’t need to see her face. He knows her almost as well as he knows himself and he knows the sympathy in her eyes right now would embarrass them both if it was acknowledged. 

He heaves a sigh and reaches for the phone. He presses play on the voicemail message before he can second-guess the choice and puts it on speakerphone. Patrick’s voice fills the quiet room. He sounds tired, maybe even as tired as David feels. 

_David_ , Patrick says, and stops speaking for so long David reaches for the phone, thinking that’s the entirety of the message. Then Patrick begins speaking again. 

_David, I wish you would talk to me. I don’t want to explain myself to your voicemail. I want to look in your eyes and let you see the truth for yourself. Rachel and I_ were _engaged. I broke it off months ago and moved away, but I never explained my actions to her. I just… left. I never responded to any of her attempts to reach out to me. I’m not proud of my behavior. I didn’t understand why it never felt right with her, or why I couldn’t make it work, so I’d been avoiding her. It’s my fault she turned up like that. I went with her because I care about her and I owed her an explanation. I needed to make sure she understood that it’s over for good between us. And the song, David. Jesus, the song I was singing at the sound check, it wasn’t— I wasn’t thinking about her. I wasn’t. Stevie told me that’s why you left. These last_ _couple of weeks, David… since we met..._ _all the songs I sing... are about_ **you** _._

Patrick pauses and when he continues his voice is shaking.

 _Until recently I didn’t understand a lot of things about myself, David. The day I met you was the day things started to make sense. I’ve wanted you from the moment I met you, David Rose._ You _make me feel right, David. Please. Please talk to me. Let me show you. Let me fix this. Please, David. I..._ Patrick inhales wetly, but that is the end of the message. 

David sits quietly, breathing in and out, and blinking back tears. Stevie remains in the doorway, saying nothing, and David loves her for that. He knows without a doubt she has an opinion about what he should do but she’s not going to offer it unless he asks. 

He wants Patrick so much. He wants all of him. He wants lazy kisses and long hugs and frantic gasps and waves of pleasure. He wants to crack himself open, lay himself bare, and trust Patrick to see all of it and still want him. He wants to know Patrick better than anyone. He wants it all. 

But. He’s also terrified. What if he’s not enough for Patrick? What if Patrick changes his mind? Patrick’s capable of disappearing without a word, without an explanation. He’s done it before. David could end up being another Rachel, chasing after Patrick, desperate to have him back. _God. He wouldn’t survive that_. With great effort he puts a stop to his spiral. 

He looks up at Stevie, eyes shining with unshed tears. He starts to speak and has to stop and clear his throat and try again. “I guess… I guess I have to decide whether or not I believe him, right?” 

Stevie nods.

David thinks about the way Patrick looks at him, the way Patrick touches him, the way Patrick sings to him—images of Patrick flashing before his eyes—and suddenly he feels calm and certain. He shoots up from the bed and practically shouts at Stevie, “We have to go!” 

Stevie backs out of the doorway so David can dash past her and calmly calls after him, “Of course we do, dumbass.” 

“UGH!” David shouts at Stevie as he yanks open the front door. “Not helpful!” 

Stevie snorts and follows him out the door. 

Once they reach the street Stevie s begins to jog away from David, who is waiting at the curb to hail a cab. “Come on, David! It’s only a few blocks.” Stevie calls out, already a few strides ahead. “Running is faster than fighting traffic this time of night.” 

“Are you kidding?!” David flaps his arms up and down. “I don’t _run_!” 

“Move your ass!”

So he does. He knows he looks ridiculous when he runs, which is why he _never_ runs. He’s actually fairly fast with his long legs, once he gets them working together in a coordinated fashion, but his arms are hopeless and they end up sort of trailing alongside and slightly behind him instead of pumping back and forth the way they are supposed to. The result is he ends up looking like he might take flight at any moment. _Goddamnit, Patrick Brewer. You’d better be worth this humiliation._

Just then David crashes into a pedestrian with one of his crazy arms and he stops briefly to make sure the man is okay, apologizing profusely as he dashes away again after Stevie, who hasn’t slowed down for a second. “Oh, my fucking god, Stevie!” he shouts at her, “And now I’m apologizing to people. What is happening to me?!” 

Stevie stops, panting and doubled over while she waits for him to catch up. “God, you’re so stupid! You’re falling in love, you idiot! Come on!”

%%%

Patrick is standing in the wings, bouncing up and down and shaking his hands out nervously. This is happening. He’s going to have to sing a duet with Twyla— _Twyla!_ —in front of a sold out Madison Fucking Square Garden crowd and it’s entirely possible he’s about to collapse from sheer terror. Everyone is worried about how this is going to go, rightfully so. Thank God they’ve got another pianist for the song. Patrick is certain he’s not capable of both playing and singing right now. On the other hand, having to stand there, next to Twyla, in the spotlight, with nothing to do with his body except sing… fuck. _Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck._ He bends at the waist, hands on his knees and breathes as deeply and slowly as he can.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a commotion at the security barrier at the side of the stage. There is an irritated redheaded woman with her arms up, blocking someone. _Oh, my God. It’s David. It’s David_. Patrick jogs over to them just in time to hear the woman say, “This is stupid,” and see David’s arms start flying around in agitation. 

Patrick puts a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “It’s Robin, right? It’s okay, Robin. This is David Rose. Don’t you recognize him?” 

She gives them both a surly look and says nothing, but she stops blocking David from passing through the barrier. 

Patrick grabs David’s shoulders and pulls him through the barrier and he may actually now be having the heart attack he thought he was having a minute ago. “David… you’re here.” Patrick feels like he can’t catch his breath. “Does that mean— are you—” before he can finish the sentence they hear Twyla’s voice booming over the sound system. She’s talking about David and Patrick and introducing their song to the crowd. Patrick shoves the microphone he’s holding at David. “Go!” he shouts. “Go!” And he shoves David toward the stage. 

As Twyla is about to introduce Patrick, she luckily glances towards the wings and sees David, who is waving the microphone in the air and pointing at himself. She smiles, nods, and adjusts her intro. David strides quickly on stage to polite—but definitely not enthusiastic—applause from the crowd. He smiles at Twyla and raises his eyebrows while gesturing at himself with the microphone. He’s asking permission to speak before they begin. Twyla nods and David takes a step forward to address the crowd.  
  
“I’d like to dedicate this song to a very special person in my life.” David turns to find Patrick in the wings and grins Patrick’s favorite David Smile at him, face lighting up and beaming right at Patrick, on full power. “He should know all the songs I sing are about him, too, but _especially_ this one.”

Patrick feels pure joy and relief flood through his body and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and it doesn’t matter which he thinks he _should_ be doing, because his body is doing both. He’s safe in the dark here so it lets the emotions come and he watches David and Twyla sing their song.

_Before I found you, I was adrift_

_Lost in a shadow, thought love was a myth_

_But then your bright eyes opened every door_

_Gave me a reason, to ask for more_

_Because it’s always been me_

_But now there’s you_

_Where there was one_

_Now there are two_

_Together we’re more than a melody, more than enough_

_With you there’s always more, always more, always more love_

The crowd is on their feet, dancing and waving their arms. They’re loving it. Patrick can see David’s confidence growing with every word. He and Twyla are dancing around each other and leaning into one another as they sing, grinning and shaking their hips.

_Before I met you, love seemed like a lie_

_A means to an end, a way to get by_

_But you showed me how, showed me the way_

_You opened your arms, you made it okay_

_Because it’s always been me_

_But now there’s you_

_Where there was one_

_Now there are two_

_Together we’re more than a melody, more than enough_

_With you there’s always more, always more, always more love_

Patrick can’t stop smiling. He thought a lot about David while they were composing this song and it seems David thought a lot about him, too. He feels his chest expanding, trying to contain the heart that feels like it’s going to leap right out of it. 

_With you I’m stronger_

_With you I’m sure_

_With you I’m happier_

_With you I’m more_

_A melody needs lyrics to become more_

_With you there’s always more, always more, always more love_

_Because it’s always been me_

_But now there’s you_

_Where there was one_

_Now there are two_

_Together we’re more than a melody, more than enough_

_With you there’s always more, always more, always more love_

The moment he finishes the last note David turns and runs to Patrick in the wings. Patrick opens his arms and David crashes into him, and they kiss passionately, all the emotions of the last week pouring out of them and into the kiss. Patrick throws his arms around David’s neck, joy flooding through him again. David’s arms around his waist suddenly wrap even tighter and Patrick feels his feet leave the ground. He throws his head back and laughs, delighted by the unexpected experience of being manhandled by David Rose again. David sets him back down, eyes shining and full of happiness. David kisses him hard once more, and then runs back out on stage to take his bows with Twyla. 

The crowd is going insane, screaming and clapping. They _loved_ the song. David and Twyla hold hands and bow several times. Twyla raises her microphone and thanks the crowd, smiling sweetly, then she nods her head at David and David raises his own microphone and begins to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to the co-writer of this song. I think you’re going to be hearing his name a lot.” He grins and holds an arm out to the wings. “Patrick Brewer!”

Patrick blows out a big breath and steps out of the wings and onto the stage and into the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...epilogue coming soon... 
> 
> Thanks for reading and for all the kind words. xx


	11. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David and Patrick celebrate the success of their song and we get a glimpse of the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you vivianblakesunrisebay. You're kind of awesome. Thanks to RQ, as always.
> 
> Apologies to the lovely Rosebuddies that waited for this so patiently. Your excitement is the only reason it got written at all. <3

It’s been a few hours since the concert but David is still exhilarated from the success of the performance with Twyla and his reunion with Patrick. He’s having trouble processing all the happiness he feels. His skin feels electric and twitchy, like he isn’t big enough to contain it all, like it might explode out of him. It took him a little while to figure out that the ache in his cheeks was from _smiling_ , of all things. So the happiness isn’t exploding out of him so much as it’s escaping out through his face. He’s pressed against Patrick’s side in a back booth at the Open Door. They’ve been congratulated and toasted by their friends over and over. David’s head is swimming a little, and after the latest round of drinks he gave Patrick a meaningful look and ordered water for both of them. Patrick’s face had grown serious in response to David’s look and his gaze had flicked between David’s mouth and his eyes twice before a small, private smile pulled the corners of his lips down.

Since then, the spaces still left between their bodies have been disappearing in increments. Patrick’s arm is around his waist and his hand has squirmed its way under the bottom of David’s sweater. He’s rubbing circles into the bare skin above David’s hip with his thumb while his fingers slowly but surely press farther and farther under the waistband of David’s pants. David is tracing the inseam of Patrick’s jeans and scratching at it with his fingernails, his hand progressively creeping higher and higher. The first time his fingers brush the bulge in Patrick’s pants, Patrick makes a sound like he’s been punched and tries to cover it with a cough. Their position in the booth and the general dimness of the bar hides their wandering hands as well as the reactions their bodies are having, but soon their flushed faces and the quality of their breathing are going to give them away to anyone who looks at them.

David glances quickly at Stevie and Ronnie, who are deep in conversation on the other side of the table from them. They haven’t noticed anything yet, but they will soon. David turns his head to press a kiss to Patrick’s cheek before whispering into his ear, “Perhaps we could, um… talk privately... in Ray’s office for a bit?”

Patrick chuckles softly and turns his head so he can kiss David on the mouth, lips fitting over his perfectly. Patrick tries to keep the kiss brief and fit for public consumption, but David chases his mouth and briefly licks into it before he allows Patrick to pull away. The hand on David’s hip clenches tight for a moment before Patrick whispers, “I would very much like to speak with you privately, but I think our odds of making it back there unnoticed are pretty slim.”

Patrick leans forward a bit and lifts his chin toward the bar to direct David’s attention and when David looks, he sees Patrick’s point. The door to Ray’s office is just a few steps away from the main bar, where Roland and Ray are busy serving up drinks and socializing with the customers. They will never make it past without being noticed. 

“We need a distraction,” David says. 

“We do,” Patrick replies. 

Then Patrick grins. “I have an idea.” He leans toward David with his chin lowered, eyes raised to meet David’s, heat still simmering in them, “Wait here.”

And before David can ask what he’s doing, Patrick is up and out of the booth. David watches him go and smirks to himself. Patrick has a beautiful, round ass and David cannot wait to get his hands on it again. He’s also walking a little funny. David’s smirk turns into a full grin.

“Hello?” Stevie says.

David jerks and his eyes snap to hers. She’s staring at him with one eyebrow cocked, amusement evident on her face. 

David twists his smile to one side of his face in an attempt to control it. He bobbles his head a little and flutters his eyelashes at her. He and Patrick are together now. He can ogle him all he wants. _Together. That’s going to take some getting used to._ “Yes?” he says to Stevie. “May I help you?”

“Ronnie has an offer for you.”

“For me?” David asks.

“For you and Patrick,” Stevie says. “And, well… for me.”

David looks to Ronnie. “Is that so?”

Ronnie leans back in the booth and lowers her chin in a subtle nod. “That’s so,” she says seriously. Her big eyes narrow as she stares at David.

David looks back and forth between the two women before giving in to his usual impatience. “Either of you want to elaborate?” he huffs. 

“I’ve offered your girl here a job working for me,” Ronnie says. “She was able to get _you_ a come-back. That’s impressive.”

David’s eyes widen dramatically and he opens his mouth to express his displeasure with how Ronnie phrased that, but Stevie’s eyes are shooting daggers at him, and, well, Stevie might _actually_ kill him if he fucks this up, so he snaps his mouth shut and doesn’t say anything.

Ronnie continues, “She says you guys are a package deal.”

David relaxes a bit and tries not to let Stevie see the relief he feels at those words. He smiles and nods confidently, “Mm-hmm. We are.” 

“And that means the kid, too?” Ronnie asks, nodding in the direction Patrick went.

_Kid?!_ David thinks, and opens his mouth again, this time to voice his displeasure at the implication about David’s own age, but Stevie is right there again with her very loud eyes aimed at him so he swallows it. “Um.” He glances around for Patrick but doesn’t see him anywhere. “I mean, Patrick needs to answer that for himself but… I think so, yes.”

“Yeaahh,” Ronnie drawls slowly and takes a sip of her beer. “I figured as much. We can do that.” She stands up and waves a hand at them vaguely. “We’ll talk,” she says and she strolls away without another word. 

For a moment, Stevie and David stare at each other across the table, eyes wide, and then they both begin to laugh at this unexpected turn of events. They have a lot to talk about and a lot to consider, but _Twyla’s_ fucking manager just asked them to join the fold. _Holy shit._ They clink their glasses together and drink.

The full impact of everything Stevie has done for him suddenly hits David, hard. She’s saved him from himself more than once. She’s the reason he still has a career. And she’s probably the only reason he didn’t irretrievably fuck up things with Patrick, who may be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Or… wait… David’s thoughts suddenly crystallize into a new understanding. _Stevie_ is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. The realization stuns David and he stares at her for a few moments, trying to absorb it. She has, literally, changed his life. 

She squints at him with a combination of concern and irritation. Mostly irritation. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

David clears his throat and says it before he can change his mind. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that you’re my best friend.”

Stevie’s mouth drops open and then she clamps it shut again and her eyes dart around, avoiding David’s. He can see the discomfort he feels reflected on her face. They both know they would walk through fire for each other, and they would both rather _actually_ walk through fire than talk about it. 

She looks at David like he’s an idiot. “You think?”

“I mean…” David gives her a small smile. He knows everything he’s feeling at this moment is showing on his face. He’ll blame it on the drinks later, but for now he lets the soft affection show. 

Stevie gives him her best annoyed glare. 

He ignores the glare and whispers, “Thank you. For everything.”

“You’re drunk.” She turns away from him, but not before he sees the tears she’s blinking back and the smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “And I’m not. Where’s the server?”

%%%

Patrick’s brain is working fast, performing calculations, making a plan. He loves seeing his thoughts line up in an orderly fashion like this, when it becomes clear to him the steps he needs to take to bring his idea to fruition. It’s very satisfying. It’s a good plan. He likes it and he’s pretty sure he can pull it off. He grins to himself as he walks behind the bar. 

It’s late now. The bar patrons are loose and having fun, and so are Ray and Roland. They’ve got a good rhythm going, almost a dance. Roland somehow knows that Ray needs the whisky bottle he just finished with so he hands it to Ray instead of putting it back in its slot. Ray seems to know Roland needs a shaker of ice so he fills one and hands it to him. The two men are so in sync and efficient at making drinks that they have plenty of time to joke around with each other and with the people sitting at the bar. They make a good team. Patrick’s grin to himself grows wider. 

“Hi, guys,” he says. 

“P _aaa_ trick!” they both reply in unison, joined by several of the regulars at the bar. Patrick feels a happy warmth spread through him. These ridiculous people are his friends and he likes them very much. It’s also possible he’s had a little too much whisky.

He chuckles and waves at everyone before stepping closer to Roland and Ray so they can speak privately. They listen to Patrick’s plan and nod along enthusiastically as he explains it. They’re in. Patrick is pleased. Step one of the plan is now in motion. CHECK. He grabs a bottle of water from the cooler— _hydration is important_ , he grins to himself— and heads toward the stage to get set up. 

As soon as he starts moving things around and turning things on he can feel people begin to watch him expectantly. By the time the sound system is ready and his guitar is tuned, the crowd had begun to quiet down. Once he hits the switch for the tiny spotlight, he has their full attention. He adjusts the microphone one last time and looks out through the crowd and back to the booth to find David. He’s there, leaning across the table, laughing with Stevie. God, he’s gorgeous. His hair has begun to curl just a little from heat and activity, and strands of it are separating from his usually smooth swoop of a hairstyle. His cheeks are flushed and his smile is extra wide. It’s his real smile. Patrick’s favorite. He hasn’t yet noticed him on the little stage and Patrick feels nervous anticipation of David’s response to step two of his plan bubble through him.

“Hi, everyone,” he says in the microphone, and is pleased to see David’s head immediately whip around to look. David’s eyes go wide as he realizes what’s going on. 

“We thought we’d open up the stage tonight for a bit if anyone is interested in sharing their talents. I’m going to start us off.” He takes his usual moment of settling himself by stepping back, forcing his shoulders down, and taking a deep breath. He steps forward again, looks directly into David’s eyes, and begins. 

_I call you when I need you_

_My heart's on fire_

He spent a lot of his time apart from David fiddling with this stripped down version of Tina’s song. Singing it comforted him. He hoped he would have the opportunity to sing this quiet, heartfelt version to David someday. Someday has come a little sooner than he anticipated, though, and his stomach rolls with nervousness as he sings. He watches David’s expression begin to shift from nervous to confused. David probably thinks Patrick is trolling him again and is trying to figure out the angle. He hopes the way he’s looking at David reassures him. 

_You come to me, come to me_

_Wild and wired_

He sees the exact moment that the slowed down lyrics and rearranged melody coalesce and David realizes what song Patrick is singing to him. He watches David’s face soften and open. Patrick doesn’t look away from him for a moment, not to check his fingers on the frets, not to watch himself strum the guitar, not to look at others in the audience and draw them into the performance. He only has eyes for David, and David only has eyes for him. 

Patrick doesn’t have to worry about how much he’s looking at this beautiful man any longer. No more hash marks in the margin of a notebook. No more trying to control himself or hide his feelings. No more hoping those feelings are returned. He can look at David as much as he wants, for as long as he wants.

When he reaches the end of the song and strums the final note there is a moment of perfect silence before people begin to applaud. Patrick still hasn’t looked away from David. He smiles softly at him and patiently waits for the applause to die down. Once it does, he tells David— and everyone else— that the next act will be Roland and Ray, which is step three of the plan. The regulars in the audience laugh uproariously, knowing what’s coming. Patrick grins widely and tilts his head just a little bit at the office door. David grins back in sudden understanding and nods. Patrick has arranged for the best diversion possible. 

Patrick quickly puts his guitar away while Ray and Roland take the stage. Then, as he begins to wind his way through the crowd and toward the office, he passes by Stevie going the other way, trying to get closer to the stage. She pauses and smirks at him. “Not subtle at all, Brewer, but I want to thank you for making this—” she nods at the stage, “—happen for _me_. It’s going to be awful and amazing and I can’t wait to see it in person.” 

Patrick just blushes and grins. “Have fun.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “You, too.”

And then they’re both moving again toward their separate destinations. As he opens the door to the office Patrick hears Roland’s voice and the first wave of uncomfortable laughter begins to move through the crowd. 

When Patrick walks into Ray's office, David pounces, and Patrick falls back hard against the closing door. David takes Patrick’s face in his hands and pauses, his mouth so close and so hot, Patrick can taste the lime from his drink earlier. They both inhale deeply and it feels like everything in the world stops for a second, even his heart, and in that split-second between heartbeats Patrick feels the need explode between them. He moans and grabs David’s face in return and crashes their mouths together, immediately plunging his tongue into David’s mouth. He’s kissing him so hard he can feel the scrape of his own teeth behind his lips. In their desperation to get closer, _closer,_ they are both whining and practically clawing at one another. 

After a few frantic minutes of this David pulls his mouth away, panting, and Patrick chuckles breathlessly at their mutual impatience before burying his nose in the stubble on the underside of David’s jaw. “God, you smell good.”

“Yeah?” David whispers as he strokes the back of Patrick’s head and lifts his chin to give him more room.

“Mmm-hmm,” Patrick hums as he drags his nose lower. He bites David’s neck and smiles when he twitches and moans in response. He tongues sweetly over the marks his teeth left and David shivers. Patrick drops his hands to the hem of David’s sweater and gathers the fabric up until he can slide his hands underneath and run his fingers through the hair on David’s belly and around to the small of his back to pull him closer. 

David obeys the tug of Patrick’s hands and slouches a little as he leans into him so their erections press together between them. They both go still for a moment and gasp into one another’s mouths. He reaches up and begins unbuttoning Patrick’s shirt slowly, pressing kisses to his exposed throat at the same time. Patrick leans his head back against the door and closes his eyes, entirely focused on the sensations of David’s cock, thick and hard, pressed against his own; of David’s mouth, hot on his neck; of David’s fingers ghosting down his chest and stomach as each button gives way. “David,” he sighs. 

His hands explore Patrick’s now bare shoulders and chest, pausing to thumb at his nipples. “David,” he pants, hips thrusting. He can’t seem to say anything else. He just keeps repeating the word for everything he wants: David. He wants to feel him everywhere. “David.” Some remote part of his brain knows he needs to make more words, but he can’t. Everything is David. David. 

He drops to his knees and slides his hands up and down Patrick’s thighs and lightly traces the outline of Patrick’s erection until Patrick begins to beg. “Please, David. Please.”

David gazes up at him. “Do you remember that first night, when I came back here to the bar and watched you sing?”

Patrick is dazed and so turned on and utterly distracted by the gorgeous man kneeling in front of him that it takes an extra moment for David’s words to register in his brain as a question he needs to respond to, and then he nods, “I remember.” He takes a shaky breath and tries to focus. “I remember how sexy you looked leaning back on the bar... watching me.”

David quirks a smile, pleased at the compliment, and then turns serious again. “Do you know what _I_ remember about that night?”

Patrick shakes his head and bites his lip. David’s gentle fingers dragging back and forth over him aren’t nearly enough. He’s so hard. He aches. He needs _more._ He needs David to stop talking and _do_ something.

David’s voice is low and intense. “I remember watching you and thinking about how much I wanted your cock in my mouth.”

_“David,”_ he gasps as a shiver of anticipation races through him.

David’s eyes are dark and unblinking and locked on Patrick’s. “I sat there thinking about what it would be like to shove you against a closed door, yank your pants down, and take you as deeply as I can.”

Patrick’s heart stutters and his mouth goes dry. For a panicked moment he thinks he might actually come just hearing David talk about it. He closes his eyes and tries to get control of his breathing. 

When he opens his eyes again he sees David hovering a hand over the button to his pants and looking at him, waiting for permission.

“God... yes” Patrick whimpers. _“Please.”_

David quickly gets Patrick’s jeans unfastened and his pants and underwear yanked down and then he pauses. He stares at Patrick’s flushed cock and licks his lips. It twitches under his gaze and it’s all Patrick can do not to thrust blindly at him. 

“Please, David,” he whines. “Please.”

David rubs his palms up Patrick’s pale thighs and then drags his nails back down them, scratching lightly. He repeats the movement and then digs his fingers into the muscles. “Your thighs are amazing and I cannot wait to have them wrapped around me but…” his eyes travel back up to Patrick’s hard, leaking cock. “That will have to wait for another time.”

David swiftly guides Patrick’s cock into his mouth and swallows him down to the root in one rough, quick motion.

“Fuck!” Patrick yells in surprise and struggles to remain upright. David reaches up to grab one of Patrick’s hands and guide it to the back of his head. Patrick cups David’s cheek with the other. “You sure?” he gasps.

David hums affirmatively and flutters his eyes in a way that tells Patrick he’s proud of the effect he’s having on him and he would be smiling if he could. He reaches up and grabs the hand Patrick laid against his cheek, presses it up into his hair also, and squeezes. Patrick clenches his fingers in David’s hair obligingly and begins to thrust slowly and carefully. David tolerates this for a minute but then grabs Patrick’s ass with one hand to urge him to thrust harder and a little faster. 

Patrick realizes that David has used his other hand to push his own pants down and is now stroking himself in time to Patrick’s thrusts. “Oh god, David, that’s...you’re...oh my _god_.” Patrick understands David wants him to control this so he can use his hands on himself, that he wants this to be fast and a little rough. He grips David’s hair tighter and begins thrusting more firmly. “God, _David_.” He wants to tell him he’s gorgeous, that he’s the sexiest thing Patrick has ever seen, that no one has _ever_ made him feel like this before. Suddenly, he desperately wants David to stop touching himself. He’s changed his mind. He wants David to wait and let Patrick make him come, but his brain is short-circuiting and he can’t complete a thought and, oh god, he’s gonna—

“David, I can’t— I’m gonna—” David’s hand moves faster on himself and he sucks Patrick harder and then begins moaning around Patrick’s cock as his hips jerk and he comes into his hand, and that is _it_. Patrick thrusts wildly once more and his vision whites out and he comes and comes and he feels his legs buckle and he tries to stay on his feet but nothing is working right and he starts sliding down the door. David’s got him, though. He gets one arm around Patrick’s waist. He lets Patrick slide out of his mouth and controls his collapse down to the floor so he lands softly. As soon as he’s down David tips forward until his face is buried in Patrick’s neck.

They stay like that for a while, panting and blissed out. Patrick presses clumsy kisses to the parts of David he can reach without moving much— his hair, his temple, his eyebrow. All the words he wants to say to David are bouncing around in his mind but he still can’t organize them into sentences yet. His entire nervous system has shorted out from the best orgasm of his life. 

%%%

David eventually lifts his head enough to kiss Patrick’s cheek and murmur, “Wow,” in his ear. 

Patrick’s arms must be under his control again because he cups David’s face and whispers, “You made me come so hard I’m not sure I remember my name,” and then he kisses him deeply, lush and lazy, tongue sweeping through his mouth. David wants nothing more than to tuck himself into Patrick’s side and ride this afterglow until it becomes arousal again, but that’s not possible right now. He pulls back regretfully and nods down to the hand he’s been holding away from them carefully. “Um, do you suppose there’s anything in here I can use to clean up?”

Patrick scrambles to his feet, pulls his pants up, and roots around until he finds a box of tissues. He kneels back down in front of David and when David reaches for the tissues Patrick says, “Let me?” David smiles and nods, recognizing that Patrick needs to take care of him right now and Patrick cleans him as best he can given the circumstances. When he’s finished he stands and helps David to his feet. He gets them both tucked away and dressed again and then gathers him into another long kiss that ends with Patrick nuzzling into David’s neck and holding him tight. They stand there swaying, not speaking, just holding each other, for so long that David begins to feel drowsy. 

Suddenly the door flies open and Ray bursts through saying, “Knock! Knock!” and grinning at them.

David and Patrick startle and jump back from one another as if Ray had caught them in the act rather than now that they’re both fully clothed. 

“Shouldn’t there be actual knocking in this process somewhere?” David harrumphs at Ray. “Preferably _before_ the door opening?” 

“Gentlemen!” Ray practically shouts, ignoring David’s comment as well as the fact that he just walked in on them in a private moment. “Your presence is being requested on stage.” He clasps his hands together in front of himself and gives them that wide, mustache-twitching grin. “We are hoping you will serenade us with your new song!”

David feels Patrick’s hand slide into his own and thread their fingers together. He smiles up at him and says, “What do you think?”

David bites down on a smile and lifts his chin. “Well, I suppose we should give the people what they want.” 

%%%

**_NINE MONTHS LATER…_ **

The gentle thrum and motion of the limousine driving them home is soothing. David flattens his hand on Patrick’s chest and rubs it back and forth over the crisp white dress shirt and looks up at him from where his head is resting on Patrick’s shoulder. “Have I told you how handsome you look tonight?”

Patrick chuckles and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I look like every other average white dude in a monkey suit roaming around tonight. You, on the other hand…” Patrick looks at him admiringly yet again and with an intensity that makes David feel warm and shivery at the same time, ”...you are so hot you probably melted people’s televisions.”

David presses his mouth to Patrick’s neck and hums. “I disagree with that assessment.” He bites Patrick and sucks gently on the spot. “I saw the way people were looking at you. You have no idea how hot you are.” Patrick shivers and pulls him in tighter. David slides a hand up his thigh and bites him again just to hear Patrick gasp and moan. 

David knows his Prada suit looks amazing on him, but hearing Patrick tell him so in that tone of voice, like he wants to get David _out_ of the suit as soon as possible, is still the best part of his night. Well, maybe it’s the second-best part. The moment when Lady Gaga announced that “Always More Love” had won the Grammy for song of the year and Patrick had grabbed him and kissed him hard before whooping and jumping to his feet like some crazy frat boy? That was _definitely_ the best part of the night. David is grinning again just thinking about it. The old version of him would have been horrified by such a display of enthusiasm, but the new David? He thought his boyfriend’s exuberance was adorable and he loved every second of it. 

They’d walked on stage behind Twyla, holding hands, and stood next to her while she accepted the award on behalf of all three of them. And when her acceptance speech turned out to be a heartfelt tribute to the love between David and Patrick, and how they’d fallen in love while writing the song, and how it inspires her to find as much joy in her own life as she can, David had to fight hard not to burst into tears in front of the world. He could tell by the clenching of Patrick’s jaw muscles that he was also struggling to keep his emotions in check. Patrick stood there next to him, warm and solid and _his_ , while they listened to Twyla’s words and tried to be in this crazy, unbelievable moment together. 

Everything after that was a blur of people and activity and flashing cameras and people shouting their names. Through it all, David kept thinking how much he wanted to be alone with Patrick. Somehow, none of it would feel real to him until it was just the two of them. There was a time he would have thrived under all this public focus and enthusiasm, but now he only wanted one person’s very specific attention. He plastered a smile on his face, held onto Patrick’s hand like a lifeline, and did his best to focus on each person that wanted a moment of his time or a selfie, as graciously as he could. It was exhausting, though. They’d only been at the after-party for about forty-five minutes and David had spent most of that time trying to decide how much longer they had to stay to be polite. He wanted to be alone and pressed up against Patrick in their bed, not even for sexy reasons— not that he would object to that, of course. 

They had ended up clustered together with Twyla, Stevie, and Ronnie, making toasts to one another and enjoying a few moments of calm amidst the storm when David heard someone clear their throat near them. The sound was instantly familiar and David felt a surge of anxious energy flash through him. He looked up to see Sebastien standing there, looking relaxed and smug, his confidence unruffled by their last meeting. David glanced quickly around their group and felt his throat tighten with emotion at what he saw. Everyone had reacted to Sebastien’s presence immediately by turning to face him full on and moving to put themselves in front of David. He felt tears of gratitude swell and blinked them back.

“David,” Sebastien began. But before he could utter another word Twyla, of all people, stepped into his space and held her hand up, palm out, before saying, “Nope. NO way.”

Sebastien’s mouth snapped shut and his eyes went wide as he stared down at Twyla. “Excuse me?”

Twyla began marching forward, forcing Sebastien to walk backwards. “No one here wants to hear anything you have to say. Go away or I’ll have my security toss you out of this party in front of everyone.”

Everyone in the area had gone silent and was watching the exchange with blatant interest. Sebastien glanced around, noted the attention, and recovered quickly. He smiled down at her. “Twyla, I think there’s been a misunder— ” He broke off when Twyla motioned for her security team and they began to step forward. Sebastien looked at David then, and for a frozen moment David saw something on his face that he’d never, ever seen before: fear. Sebastien swallowed nervously. Then his mask fell back into place. He shrugged and put his hands up in surrender and walked away without another word while everyone stared silently and watched him go. David was pretty sure Sebastien’s career was over. He tried not to feel satisfied by the thought.

Okay, so maybe Patrick telling him how hot he looks is the _third_ best thing that had happened that night.

The limousine drops them at the hotel and it’s like Patrick has read his mind. He leads David by the hand to their room and wordlessly undresses him and presses him under the sheets and into bed. Then he undresses himself, slides in next to him and gathers him into a full body hug. He presses his forehead against David’s and whispers, “I love you.” David swallows thickly and whispers back, “I love _you_.” 

“Music to my ears,” Patrick mumbles against his lips.

David dodges the kiss and says, “It’s the lyrics that matter.”

Patrick laughs into a second try at kissing him. “Whatever you say, David.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might enjoy my other "lesser known romcom" AU, [A Hint of Amnesia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25071754/chapters/60728863).


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